


Woefully insufficient paranoia

by Rozzlynn



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Horror, Boneturning, Canon Asexual Character, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eldritch Entities, Eye Trauma, Kissing Gone Wrong, Love Story, M/M, Manipulation, Monster!Jon, Monster!Martin, Neither a happy ending nor the worst of bad endings, No Sex, Platonic Relationships, Suicidal Inclinations, The Extinction, Torture, horror story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozzlynn/pseuds/Rozzlynn
Summary: Hi Jon,Could you meet me today at the ruins of Waltham Express Grill, Higham Hill Road, Walthamstow, from statement #0092010? As soon as you can, if that's alright. I've finally got something to tell you.I'm going to need your help.See you thereMartinP.S. Please bring your rib.





	1. Seems legit

**Author's Note:**

> I've really gotten into The Magnus Archives lately. First fic for this series, I hope it reads okay, and there will be more if my plotbunnies have anything to say about it. This one's planned as three chapters, with the next two outlined already.
> 
> Note that it's rated explicit for violence, not sexual content, and it's written as approximately canon-typical horror, i.e. quite heavy on gore and manipulation, though the tone may cross into triggery in ways that canon is not. Jon and Martin's relationship is basically written as reciprocal queerplatonic love (with one-sided lust that's not a focus), which is similar to the way I see canon right now, though they actually get to communicate here. More or less.
> 
> Set and written after episode 140, and wildly canon-divergent after that point.

_Hi Jon,_

_Could you meet me today at the ruins of Waltham Express Grill, Higham Hill Road, Walthamstow, from statement #0092010? As soon as you can, if that's alright. I've finally got something to tell you._

_I'm going to need your help._

_See you there  
Martin_

_P.S. Please bring your rib._

  
Jon's eyes lingered on his laptop screen as he opened his desk drawer and fumbled for his rib, his fingers numb with sudden anticipation. He slipped the bone into the left pocket of his jeans, alongside his lighter, then pulled on his coat and checked the pockets to make sure his phone, keys, wallet and Oyster card were all where he'd left them. A tape recorder had made itself at home next to his wallet. He grabbed a couple of blank tapes from his desk, then left his laptop on standby and made a dash for the stairs.

He tried to focus in case he could tell where Martin was right now, but no supernatural insights were forthcoming. Martin had asked to meet outside the institute, probably for good reason, so even if he was currently within the building, he might not take kindly to being ambushed again. Nevertheless, Jon couldn't feel guilty for checking. ' _I'm going to need your help'_ was a far cry from ' _stop finding me_ '.

Up on the ground level, once his phone had a signal, he texted Martin, barely avoiding a collision with Rosie as he breezed through reception.

_Got your email. I'm on my way._

There were no visibly looming dangers outside, only a smattering of cobwebs along the walls of nearby buildings. He pulled up a map on his phone as he set off for Pimlico station, checking the directions as he walked.

_I'll be there by about 11, all going well._

_And I'll text you when I get there._

_Text me back if you can?_

_Stay safe._

Jon sighed as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. Texting Martin five times in under five minutes probably wasn't crossing the line, under these circumstances, but he ought to leave it there for now.

Distant sirens blared as he crossed the road, and he realised he ought to let Basira and the others know where he was going. They probably wouldn't miss him for a few hours, but he would want to know if they were doing field work, and trust went both ways, as Basira had so recently reminded him.

_I'll be out in Walthamstow today. Call if you need anything._

Jon sent the text to Basira, Daisy and Melanie, then jogged the rest of the way to the station. His phone buzzed as he approached the entrance, and he paused by a pillar to read Daisy's reply.

_Be careful._

A smile flickered across his face as he texted back. Not so long ago, Daisy wouldn't have worried about his safety. If he could build a friendship with her, then he could surely rebuild bridges with the others too.

_I will._

Jon checked the time every couple of minutes on the train to Blackhorse Road Station, gritting his teeth whenever the carriage shuddered on the tracks. Living in the archives almost 24/7 hadn't given him many opportunities to test his tolerance for confined and crowded spaces after dragging himself out of the coffin. He certainly wasn't as claustrophobic as Daisy, but it was a struggle to stay seated at every stop along the way. The route was walkable, but Martin had asked him to arrive as soon as possible.

He hadn't received any more messages by the time he re-emerged into the open air. Oxygen was more of a luxury than a necessity these days, but he took a few deep breaths to psych himself up before breaking into a sprint. The streets were fairly quiet at this time of day, and even running uphill, he covered the better part of a mile in five minutes.

The old takeaway place was obvious at a distance, a weathered shell of a building plastered with posters and graffiti. The outer walls were mostly intact, but the roof had entirely caved in. There were still scraps of twisted metal clinging to the brickwork, paying homage to the steel sheets that had once covered the windows and doors.

A glance through an empty window revealed that the inner floors had all collapsed, leaving a mouldering pile of rubble in the cellar, about ten feet below ground level. Empty cans and food wrappers had piled up around the edges, no doubt originating from the pub across the road.

Jon sighed and pulled out his phone. Only 10:43... Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that he'd arrived first.

_I'm here. See you soon?_

He texted Martin, waited until 10:47, and then tried calling.

Martin's phone went straight to voicemail. Jon hung up without leaving a message, and started pacing the perimeter of the building.

Wouldn't the pub have been a better meeting place? Not that he particularly fancied a drink or a bite to eat, he'd started the day with a statement that would sustain him until at least tomorrow, but there wasn't much to see here...

The back door was long gone as well. This side of the building was plagued by fewer crisp packets, and more rubbish of a questionable nature. Jon leaned against the empty doorway, casting his gaze over the cellar in case anything stood out on closer inspection.

Someone shoved him from behind. The cellar's debris hit him in the face, scraping his cheek open on something sharp and cold. Broken glass crunched beneath his hands as he shoved himself to his feet. The cuts had healed by the time he gathered his wits and looked around. There was no sign of his attacker in the empty doorway above. The fall had smashed his phone, and it wouldn't turn on. Fantastic...

"Who's there?" Jon called out, the words laced with a power born of adrenaline and paranoia. Woefully insufficient paranoia, apparently.

A hulking figure in a grey tracksuit slammed down next to him. When he straightened up from the jump, the top of his head was nearly on a level with the ground floor. "Guess who."

"Jared, ah, you're... here..." Jon backed away a couple of steps, plastering on a smile. He'd learned the hard way to stay polite for as long as possible around other avatars, especially those almost twice his height and ten times his mass. "How are you? Are you, uh, enjoying the rib?"

"Not really." Jared loomed closer, backing Jon into the concrete wall.

"Oh, that's a shame." Jon half-stifled a burst of panicked laughter. "It's the best I have to offer, even if it is a - a little weird. I, uh, grew it myself."

"No kidding."

The outline of Jared's torso shifted beneath his hoodie. Jon gave up on trying to estimate the number of moving limbs, and focused on a pair of eyes situated vaguely in the middle of his face.

"Well, I suppose Elias helped..." Jon muttered, before steering his thoughts back on track. "You didn't happen to run into anyone else from the Institute on the way here, did you?"

"No. I got one of those letters. Said you'd be here. Would've ignored it, but I owe you for that stunt with the river. And you owe me for the duff rib."

"The river wasn't actually my idea..."

Jon trailed off as Jared growled, a sound more evocative of two boulders grinding together than of anything remotely human.

If he was going to count his blessings, then at least he'd told his colleagues roughly where he was going. Melanie might tell Helen, and Helen might take it upon herself to check on him if he was gone for long. In any case, it wasn't worth trying to attract anyone else's attention. None of the passers-by around here would stand a chance against Jared. Even if someone called the police, they might not send a sectioned officer, and even if they did, they wouldn't know what they were dealing with.

"...Martin didn't really write that email, did he?" Jon muttered, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The email had _felt_ like something from Martin, just as Jared's replies felt honest, but these days he often found it hard to distinguish his own assumptions from supernatural knowledge.

"What email?" Jared asked, sounding fairly unconcerned with the answer. A curved bone slid out from the palm of one of his hands. He let it fall to the ground without breaking eye contact.

Jon knelt to retrieve his wayward rib, and tried to clean it on his coat sleeve as he stood up again.

"Too weird, that one. Didn't sit right. I thought about tossing it, but I don't work for free. Figured you'd be open to an exchange."

"Oh. I, ah, that depends. What do you want to exchange it for?" Jon checked.

Jared shrugged. A slew of snapping and squishing noises accompanied the gesture. "Dig around, see what I can find."

"Ah. I see." Jon pressed a hand to his chest, vividly recalling the pain of the original deal's fulfillment. "What if you don't find anything you like better?"

"You'd better hope I do."

Jared didn't wait for an answer before sinking one of his many hands into Jon's neck and brushing his fingertips along his spine.

Jon gritted his teeth, unable to fully stifle the pained noises in the back of his throat at the intrusion. Jared's hand slid up to his skull, one thumb resting on his jawbone while a few more dug into his scalp. Jon held very still, wishing he could protest that he _really couldn't spare those parts_.

Fortunately, Jared moved on, letting his hand fall to Jon's collarbone and snapping off the top buttons of his shirt in the process. One of Jared's eyes travelled a meandering path down his face as he prodded at Jon's skeleton. He let slip a sound of disgust, as if nothing he'd found so far had met his exacting standards. Jon couldn't guess how he was falling short, considering Jared had a history of sending his friends out to steal sheep femurs.

"Nngh... I... I could offer... alternative payment?" Jon forced out the words, pressing back into the wall for support. He could hear the tape recorder in his pocket whirring, though he wasn't sure when it had switched itself on. "Money? Or... s-something from Artifact Storage? I'm sure I could, ah, sneak out... something small... Do you want a f-fountain pen that writes in... blood...?"

Jared reached into his neck and flicked his spine. The ensuing burst of agony was probably a 'no', though Jon couldn't spare it much thought as he blacked out.

When Jon came back to his senses, he was lying on top of his coat, and Jared's explorations had reached his left elbow and wrist. The intrusive pain made it hard to think, but he couldn't help noticing the lack of fabric in the way. He seemed to be in one piece, for now. Or at least, in the same three pieces he'd been in on arrival. His ribs were close at hand, but they were still relatively useless.

Could he drive off Jared by extracting a statement using the power he'd tried out against Breekon? The Institute had bolstered his strength while he was within its walls, and Breekon had already been fading. Right now, Jared wasn't weakened, and Waltham Express Grill was a place of power for the flesh. On balance, it wasn't worth the risk, unless Jared went for something worse than a bone from his wrist.

As Jared leaned over to inspect his right arm, Jon was struck by the knowledge that _Martin was still at the Institute. At this very moment, Martin was in absolute, mind-numbing agony_. The insight gave Jon no additional context, eluding his grasp when he tried to pry further.

Fuck, he needed to get out of this cellar. He shouldn't have left the Archives, he should've been there to protect Martin... How quickly could he get back to the Institute...?

"If you can't decide, f-feel free to take the whole arm," Jon offered, forcing out the words through gritted teeth.

Jared ignored him, flexing his elbow joint at an unhurried pace.

"Please, I - I have somewhere I need to be. I can't, this is taking too long, how much - "

One of Jared's bony fingers dipped into Jon's right eye, cutting short his protest. A scream burned in his throat, vitreous fluid dripping down the side of his face.

When Jared's finger withdrew, the burst eyeball started to mend itself, membranes knitting together and refilling with gel. Jon found himself sobbing as his vision hazily returned, the ligaments behind his iris pulling the lens back into place.

Jon tried to quiet down and focus while Jared pored over the bones in his right hand. What else could he say? Jared wouldn't listen to reason, but he couldn't afford to wait this out. Martin was still human, unable to heal instantly from whatever he was going through. Beholding's gifts were still within reach, though his mind's eye felt wounded, his energy already drained by this ordeal. If he was going to put up a fight, he had to do it now, while he wasn't yet completely exhausted.

Glaring up at Jared, he clawed together all the power he could muster and pressed in on his mind. Fascination with flesh and bone, bitter antipathy, a hint of caution - for a few seconds Jared's dominant emotions offered him a way in, bleeding through cracks that he could peel apart to extract a more satisfying second statement, a full account of every terror he'd ever inflicted -

Then a hand swam through Jon's skull, and a spur of bone leaped across to bridge each eye socket, skewering his eyes in the process.

Jon was quicker to stifle his scream this time, grinding his teeth in an attempt to at least muffle the noise, though he didn't have it in him to stay silent. His eyeballs closed up around the intrusions, fluid shifting back and forth as the organs failed to fully rebuild themselves. Jon pressed his head back against the ground, his screams trailing off into whimpers as the squishing carried on non-stop.

Maybe, if he asked the right questions, he could turn this around... He was still trying to figure out what to say when Jared fused his jaw shut, apparently anticipating another attempt at compulsion. Was he that predictable?

The sharp ache in his limbs informed him when Jared continued where he'd left off, but it was hard to spare much concern for anything as inessential as arms or legs. He couldn't see, _he couldn't see_...

If only he hadn't bargained with Jared in Helen's corridors, letting his one-track mind fixate on procuring an anchor to save Daisy, win back Basira's trust, undo those of his mistakes that could be undone, rebuild his team, gain their help with research, avert rituals, save the world... If he'd taken five minutes to stop and think, he could have come up with a different anchor. His idea hadn't even worked, on its own. Helen would probably have sliced off one of his fingers, if he'd asked...

"Nothing worth salvaging," Jared eventually announced, with a definite note of disdain in his tone.

"Mmmh...?"

"I guess you've got one thing going for you," Jared added. "You're not the sort to die quickly. That's always a disappointment."

"Mmhhh!"

He reached in again and twisted Jon's kneecaps round to the back of his legs. That was not part of the deal, an extraction and exchange... Would Jared kill him after all? Or leave him alive, as mangled as Sebastian but unable to die quickly? ...Would anyone else be capable of untangling him?

His ankles were the next target of Jared's attention, stretched and twisted until they were curled round his shin bones, while his skin shifted to accommodate the alterations to his frame. His feet were slowly teased apart into bouquets of fine strands, then braided into his knees and hands, brittle and flowing.

Jon lost track of time, drifting into a haze that had become familiar during the worst of his kidnappings, when the hours had dragged on and there had been nothing he could do to improve matters.

Jared was gradually adjusting the curve of his arms, tightening the spiral around his neck, when he suddenly fell still. After an odd pause, he changed tack, his movements jerky and stiff. His hands dug into the sides of Jon's skull, and the bone piercing his eye sockets flowed back into its rightful place. His hands abruptly shifted down, and his jaw un-fused.

Jon shuddered as his eyes finally finished rebuilding themselves. He blinked up at the evening sky, his vision still hazy with exhaustion, as the rest of his bones were un-twisted one by one.

Once Jon was back in a familiar shape, Jared lurched over to the clothes that he'd left nearby. After rifling through them for a few moments, he returned with Jon's spare ribs. Moving swiftly, he laid the bones over Jon's lower chest, then slotted them back into place.

After piecing Jon together, Jared stepped back a couple of paces, and promptly burst into flames.

Jon watched in stupefied silence as Jared burned away, engulfed by a lightless inferno that swiftly reduced him to charred bones.

The setting sun cast deep shadows across the cellar, only partly alleviated by the nearby streetlamps. The shadows flickered and intensified at the edges of his vision, giving him the disorienting impression of something vast drawing closer.

An indistinct form dropped into the cellar, landing by his side with a soft crunch of rubble. He blinked a few times to clear his bleary vision, and caught a split second impression of too many eyes, before the figure knelt beside him, close enough to recognise.

Martin eased an arm round Jon's shoulders and pulled him into leaning against his chest. Jon pressed his face into his cardigan, the familiar scent of clean wool and cheap aftershave an unfathomable reassurance.

When Martin spoke, his voice was hoarse, as if he'd recently been screaming too. "Uh, h-hi, Jon. Sorry I'm late."

Jon felt a laugh building somewhere in his chest, but it dissipated into a sigh by the time it reached his throat. He let Martin help him into his clothes, too tired to manage it alone, but drew his attention with a tug on his arm before he could fetch his shoes. Martin took the hint, and let him lean on his shoulder in another loose hug.

Jon weighed up a multitude of questions, and realised none of them were his first priority. "...It's alright, Martin. I got here early. Give me a minute, and I'll... If you want to talk, I'm here."


	2. Catching up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second of the planned chapters ended up getting long, so I've split it into two. I'm still trying to get it written quickly... It was always going to be canon divergent, but at the rate canon's going right now, I want to post this idea before it's left too much further behind in the dust. Jon and Martin get a chance to talk this chapter! And it's still a horror story, so mind the tags.

Martin sighed and slumped forward, holding Jon slightly closer. "Yeah. We should talk. I... My new flat isn't far from here. I've been bringing a lot of research home lately, so it'd be a good place to catch up. And I've got a couch you could crash on, if you need to rest."

"Ah. Yes. Research, and I should..." Jon closed his eyes, too woozy to continue. After a few seconds, he summoned the energy to mumble a few more words into Martin's shoulder. "...Might need to rest here, before I can walk."

"I could carry you, if you didn't mind?" Martin offered.

"Hmm?"

"This is no place for a nap. Hang on, I'll grab your shoes."

Martin gently lowered him back into lying on the remains of the collapsed building. Jon had to agree that it wasn't what anyone would call comfortable.

"Here you go. This won't take a second..."

Jon blinked his eyes open as Martin slipped his shoes on and tied the laces, breezing through the task quickly and carefully. Before long, he was back at his side, shifting one arm beneath his shoulders and another under his knees. Jon leaned into Martin's chest for support as he rose to his feet.

"How's that?" Martin checked.

"Mm." Jon glanced around, trying not to drift off just yet. The cellar walls loomed over them, a potential problem. "Uh. Can you climb...?"

"It's alright, I know a shortcut."

Martin set off towards a dark corner of the cellar. Jon squinted ahead, but the shadows seemed unnaturally dark, concealing any previously unnoticed exits.

When Martin stepped into the shadows, Jon's vision cut out completely. The temperature dropped until Jon was sure that his breath must be misting in the air. Martin's footsteps didn't falter, even as they left the cellar far behind.

Jon closed his eyes, curling into Martin's warmth. He drifted off into a troubled sleep, and woke up to the sound of a kettle boiling about ten feet to his left. He could hear Martin's soft footsteps on the floorboards, and the slight creak of cupboard doors opening and closing.

The sofa cushions shifted under Jon's weight as he tried to sit up, only to give up on the endeavour. Even lying down, he could see Martin setting out a couple of mugs on the kitchen counter that ran along the far wall.

A coffee table sat before the sofa, sparsely decorated with a fruit bowl full of apples, and a vase containing a handful of slightly wilted bluebells. The bowl and the vase both looked hand crafted, their wavy ceramic forms painted pastel blue, with a yellow paw print pattern layered on top.

Beyond the far end of the sofa, a bookshelf towered over a small desk, both of which were piled high with files and paperbacks. Further along the wall, a door was set next to a window with its blind rolled up, offering a nighttime view of a balcony filled with pot plants and a row of houses across the street.

Jon blinked as he noticed his shoes were still on, even though his feet were propped up on a cushion. He made a second attempt at sitting up, keeping hold of the back of the sofa, and managed to loosen his laces enough to kick his shoes off. He flipped the cushion over to present the clean side to the room, and glanced over his shoulder at the other two walls.

Off to his right, the front door to the flat was locked, bolted, and chained shut, with an airtight seal around the edges. A fire extinguisher was fixed to the wall nearby.

He knew at a glance that the two plain white doors in the wall behind him led to the bedroom and bathroom. There was no sign of a pitch black portal, or Helen's door, or a stray cobweb, or anything else that didn't belong.

With a sigh of relief, he sat back against the sofa, and flexed his hands experimentally. The boneturning didn't seem to have caused any permanent damage.

Martin approached with the drinks in his hands and a wet tea towel draped over one arm. After setting the tea down on the table, he handed Jon the towel. When he spoke, his voice was slightly scratchy, but not as hoarse as earlier.

"You've, uh, still got a bit of dried blood and goo on your face."

"Ah. Thank you." Jon rubbed away the grime, and handed back the towel.

Martin hesitated, staring at him, then reached out with a corner of the fabric to rub at something above his ear. Jon held still, and waited until Martin had headed off to add the towel to the laundry before pulling a face.

When Martin returned to the main room, he started wheeling the desk chair towards the coffee table.

Jon patted the space next to him on the sofa. Martin paused, giving him a dubious look, then sighed and sat beside him. Jon tried to stifle a pang of hurt, until Martin gave him a stern instruction.

"Let me know if you need to lie down again, and I'll give you the space."

"Oh. No, I'm fine, for now."

Jon picked up his tea, then rested it on his leg to give his arms time to wake up. Tired and woozy wasn't quite fine, but it was close enough. When he took a tentative sip, his hands shook slightly, and Martin placed a hand over his to steady him before he could spill anything. The tea was blessedly refreshing, full of milk and honey.

"Sweeter than you usually make it," Jon observed.

"Yeah, I figured you could use the calories."

Jon almost told him that a statement would be more of a boost than any number of calories, but he caught himself in time, and took another sip instead. After savouring the taste for a moment, he set the mug down on the table, giving Martin a chance to let go.

"Good call," Jon told him quietly, landing on a less ungrateful reply.

Martin squeezed his hand, then made a start on his own drink. Jon let his eyes drift shut, savouring his presence.

After a couple of minutes, Martin set his drink aside. Jon glanced over in time to see a troubled frown cross his face before he reopened the conversation.

"Uh, Jon, you know you can ask..." Martin trailed off, looking oddly uneasy.

"Mm?" Out of all the things they ought to discuss, Jon wasn't sure precisely what he was getting at, so it seemed safest not to guess.

"About what happened out there," Martin added, "and why I asked to see you. What I've been researching."

Jon bit his tongue, refusing to let his questions escape until he'd thought them through. Eventually, he nodded and fixed his gaze on the table, giving his tongue a second to heal. The taste of blood was getting too familiar.

"...I'm here at your invitation. I assume you'll share your thoughts, in your own time."

"Seriously...?"

The sheer depth of Martin's incredulity was almost insulting.

Jon nodded and met his gaze, staying stubbornly polite. "Thank you for the tea."

"Wow. That's..." Martin stared at him in a way that verged on suspicious. "You've really changed."

"I - I won't press you for answers," Jon insisted, seeing few options but to dig his heels in. "You've put up with more than enough of that from me, over the last few years. And you n-never seemed to enjoy it, at the time."

"Well, yeah, I wasn't happy when you were lashing out at the rest of us, and neglecting your health for the sake of your job, but that was... this is different."

"I always want answers," Jon admitted quietly. "I try to be reasonable, but with all that's happened... It can be hard to tell where to draw the line."

"Okay..." Martin looked somewhat off balance, and his voice was turning tight with stress. "As a rule of thumb, if people tell you to stop yelling and go home, you've probably crossed the line."

"Right. I... I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I was always worried about you, you know? I always wanted to help. And now, you seem... better. That's good. If things have been better lately..." Martin looked down and folded his hands in his lap. A wisp of fog drifted over his fingers. "I should've figured you'd have an easier time of it, while I was out of the way."

"No. No, that's not it." Jon reached over to lay a hand on his wrist. Whatever had happened to Martin today, he certainly didn't want to make it worse. "These last few months, I haven't quite known what to do with myself. You didn't want to talk to me, even to pass the time, and I wasn't sure you ever would again. If this is a second chance, then I'll stay on my best behaviour, for your sake."

"Oh..." The fog dissipated as Martin gave him a wide-eyed stare.

"Please tell me if I say the wrong thing, or..."

"Right, right. I will." Martin took hold of his hand and shifted around to face him. "Still, you should know that I wasn't avoiding you because of anything you'd done. I've had my hands full dealing with Peter, and he didn't want me talking to anyone, until now, least of all anyone I care about."

"I did get the impression that he was isolating you. But even beyond that... Last time we spoke, you didn't seem terribly happy to see me. I thought things had changed."

"Yeah, I wasn't happy to see you placing yourself in danger. I missed you, and I was miserable and frustrated, and I couldn't afford to explain, and seeing you again didn't change anything. So long as it was a choice between saving your life and keeping you company, it was no choice at all."

"Ah." Jon took a moment to process the implications. "But you have Peter's permission to see me now."

"Yeah, he said I should arrange to meet you today, to bring you up to speed. We've been researching rituals, and now we know exactly what we need to do." Martin held his gaze, a hint of pride in his smile. "We need your help to implement the best solution."

"And you were delayed..." Jon prompted him gently.

"I, uh, s-sort of." Martin's gaze dropped to their joined hands. "Peter said we should hold one more meeting without you, to finalise the key points. He asked me to make sure you headed out early, so you couldn't eavesdrop or interrupt. If you'd been at the institute, we probably couldn't have stopped you from doing something drastic and placing all of us at risk. I didn't know exactly what he meant, but looking back, I guess he was right. He promised I could go talk to you afterwards."

"And Jared..."

"I didn't think Jared would show up," Martin mumbled. "At least, not until I was there. They said I'd be able to deal with Jared, when the time came. Because you'd need your ribs back. Or at least, you'd need to bring them with you. She also said she'd send someone to keep an eye on you, while you were out, but I... I guess I didn't put two and two together. Sorry."

Jon bit his tongue again, tamping down the new questions that this answer raised. Once he'd brought himself under control, he swallowed the blood, and squeezed Martin's hand.

"It's alright, Martin. You were manipulated. It happens to us all."

Martin shook his head, biting his lip. His next words were so quiet as to be barely audible. "I'm really, really sorry."

"That's enough. I was worried about you, earlier, and that was the worst part," Jon told him, trying to be firm. "I'm glad to see you again."

Martin winced, and glanced around the room. His gaze landed on the nearby vase of bluebells. Jon would have liked to tell him to get rid of the drooping flowers, but this was no time to be rude and petty. They were perfectly normal plants, even if they did remind him of a book he'd rather forget.

"...Did you paint those ceramics yourself?" Jon asked instead. The paw print design seemed like his style.

"Uh, yeah. At a summer arts festival, a few years ago. S-Sasha went too. Or at least, I remember... but that might not have happened..." Martin pulled his hand free and rubbed at his eyes. He wasn't crying, but that was clearly a risk.

"...I'm sorry," Jon told him, though he wasn't sure how much good it would do.

"That, that's not... We've got a lot of ground to cover, but maybe this isn't the best time," Martin replied, sounding choked up. "I know statements are good for you, but they can still tire you out if you push yourself too far. You're already exhausted. I'll unfold the sofa bed so you can get some sleep, and we can come back to this in the morning, when you're better recovered..."

"I'd rather have this talk now, and rest afterwards." Jon tried to keep his tone gentle, though a part of him was bristling with frustration. He couldn't go back to sleep without answers.

"Alright. If you're sure." Martin kept staring at the table. "...You haven't finished your tea."

Jon drained the rest of his drink, then set the mug down with a quiet thump.

"Can you manage some fruit as well?" Martin asked, offering him an apple from the bowl. "You need to eat."

"I really don't," Jon informed him, trying not to get too curt.

"Jon." Martin gave him a stern look.

"Fine..." Jon took the apple, though he wasn't particularly hungry. Past a certain point, it was always easier to go along with Martin's fussing.

When he bit into the apple, it disintegrated into a writhing mass of spiders. Hundreds of tiny twitching forms swarmed over his hands and skittered down his throat. He froze as they crawled up his sleeves, under his tongue, across his neck, inside and out...

The first shooting pains in his oesophagus broke his silence, and he curled in on himself, wracked by half-strangled screams. He was as good as dead. Martin would never have done this to him. What had happened to the real Martin? How long ago had he died...?

"Shhh, it's okay. It's okay." The imposter's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "We're doing this now, just like you wanted."

Jon tried to pull away, violently shaking, but he couldn't escape the monster's grip. Blinking away tears, he stared into its eyes, and forced out a question laced with crackling energy. "Who are you?"

"Martin Blackwood, Assistant to Peter Lukas, Head of the Magnus Institute." The compulsion drew out the words, instant and undeniable. Once the energy had faded, settling back into Jon's spine, his companion offered him a skewed smile. "See? It's still me. It's okay. You can get through this, okay?"

Jon doubled over as the spiders reached his stomach, biting and scratching and crawling further inside. Coughing and retching didn't help, and he couldn't think, this didn't make any sense, it was happening but it didn't make sense...

Martin pulled out Jon's arm and placed another apple in his hand.

"N-no..." Jon tried to let go, but Martin kept hold of his hand, folding his fingers around the fruit. "Why...? Already dead..."

"You're not going to die. I won't let that happen." Martin sounded serious, somehow. "Do you think anyone at the institute would try to kill you? Seriously, do you think that's what these last few years have been about? The way they trapped you in your role and pushed you to become stronger, to keep learning, to do things that nobody else has ever accomplished? Do you really think they'd kill you now, as if you were just another meal? Do you think I'd cooperate, if that was how they saw you?"

Jon tried to study his face, but he couldn't stop crying and shuddering for long enough to get a clear view. "Then... what... Martin... what?"

"I told you I wouldn't let you die again. No matter what, I won't let you die. That's why I'm here. Do you believe me?"

The question sent a surge of tingling energy through Jon, a compulsion sinking in to dredge up an answer. He gave in immediately, doubting his ability to figure out the truth unassisted.

"Yes..." Once his answer had passed his lips, Jon latched onto it, as if the truth was enough of a lifeline to save him from every other aspect of his reality. "Yes, I... believe you..."

"Then trust me. You can't stop now, or you won't survive the night, but you'll be okay so long as you finish your fruit."

Martin released his hand.

Jon kept hold of the apple, his fingers twitching as he tried to focus despite the spreading pain. When he made an attempt to sit up, Martin helped, easing him into leaning back against the sofa.

"That's it," Martin added, his voice soft and encouraging. "A bite of each is enough, but it's better if you can manage more."

Jon glared at the second apple as he lifted it with both hands. The moment he bit down, it collapsed into a springy tangle of magnetic tape. Had someone yanked this out of one of the cassette tapes that kept spawning in the office? Loops of it hooked around his teeth, crinkling as he used his fingers to stuff the rest into his mouth. The texture made it difficult to swallow, but once he'd forced down a few coils, the spiders latched on and started pulling it down his throat. With their dubious help, he finished the entire portion.

"Well done," Martin told him, stroking his shoulder.

"Th-that wasn't as bad. Despite the scratchiness. But I don't see what good it did," Jon admitted. The shooting pains within him were still spreading as the spiders explored, but the greater part of his attention was now drawn to the tape, mentally picking at its presence as if he could decipher its secrets even after it had been unreeled and consumed.

"Give it a minute," Martin advised. "Remember, I'm right here."

"Hmm..." Jon followed his advice and waited, digging his fingers into the cushions in an effort to avoid clawing off his own skin.

Between one moment and the next, he knew the entire contents of the tape he'd swallowed, as if he'd listened to it on repeat until he had it perfectly memorised. Side A of the cassette had started recording while Martin was sobbing, harsh and unrestrained. A clock ticked in the background, and a faint rustle of movement hinted at the presence of at least one other person in the room.

Over the next fourteen minutes, Martin's sobbing had gradually subsided, until he was drawing in wheezing gasps of air, still sounding half panicked. Then he moved as if to pick something up, and a few seconds were obscured by heavy static, until suddenly he was screaming, lost in absolute agony. Jon _knew_ that this was the part of Martin's day that he'd sensed earlier, while he'd been trapped in the cellar with Jared.

The next few minutes continued in the same vein, until Martin trailed off into pained crying for the rest of the recording. Side B picked up shortly afterwards, when he was slowly getting his breath back. Eventually, there was the sound of more movement, and a faint huff of a sigh from Martin, followed by another burst of static. The next couple of minutes passed in heavy silence, until Martin started whispering in an all but ruined voice. "What? No, wait, what...? No, no, no..."

Nobody else spoke on tape, though there was the sound of an impatient sigh from close by. Eleven minutes passed in silence, until Martin mumbled something else. "No. Tim, not that way. No inside, up there. Mirror. Next one. Listen, listen... colours outside, not here. He's not here." Another fifteen minutes of silence were broken by more movement, and then Martin spoke again, sounding marginally less confused. "Sorry, Peter, I, I'm here. Next, next, next one..." The ensuing rustling movements were followed by a thump and a prolonged hiss of pain, as if Martin had fallen to the floor. The tape cut out a few seconds later.

Jon twisted round on the sofa and stared at Martin, searching for an answer in his face. He didn't even know what question he was asking, but he needed an answer.

"There it is." Martin offered him a sad smile. "You see? What you're doing now... I got through it earlier, so I know you can get through it too. That's two down, twelve to go."

"Peter recorded you, at a time like that...?"

"Well, you know, the recorders don't always turn off," Martin reminded him. "Besides, they said it'd be as good as anything else, as a healthy snack for you, so, yeah..."

"They? Who else was there, besides Peter?" Jon checked. He should have asked earlier, without worrying so much about putting his foot in his mouth and driving Martin away. Clearly that had never been a risk.

"I told you, didn't I?" Martin replied, grabbing another apple from the fruit bowl. "Are you ready to carry on? You're doing really well."

That was practically an answer in itself. "... Annabelle Cane."

"Right. Elias couldn't be there in person, for obvious reasons, but they said he'd already made his position clear." Martin pressed the apple into Jon's hands, then kept talking, apparently assuming that this counted as an explanation. "Peter wanted me to fill your shoes, at first, but he was outnumbered. In the end, he had to admit that you're the best candidate, even if you can't do this alone. This isn't what Elias originally wanted for you, either, but he asked us to tell you that he's still proud of you. I had half a mind to conveniently forget his message, but I guessed it might mean something to you, so. Yeah. There it is."

"Elias, Peter, and Annabelle... They've been isolating you for months, manipulating you, and I wasn't there, I didn't know..."

"I'd never met her, until today," Martin told him. "I've mostly been researching the statements that Peter's been unearthing. I wanted your opinion on the plan, so I'd have been in touch sooner or later, even if Peter hadn't suggested it today. I, I thought I'd get more information this morning, and I definitely did. They showed me how much I didn't know, and how much I could do for you. They made everything clear."

"I'm so sorry..."

"Don't apologise." Martin sounded a little irritated. "I know what I'm doing."

"... Fourteen apples. Which two did you... on that tape...? You sounded so..."

"Uh, I think they picked tape two of five, and by then I was on to... the Desolation and the Spiral."

"Oh. For Beholding, did they feed you a tape...?"

"Yeah." Martin looked down at his hands, and didn't volunteer any more information.

"Which one?" Had they left a hole in the Archives' collection?

"Uh, it was a cross recording of a few different statements," Martin explained. "Side A started with that time you destroyed the table in Artefact Storage, and the thing that wasn't Sasha chased you through the tunnels, threatening to kill you. Then it jumped to bits of your talk with Leitner, and his death, up to the part where you found his corpse, and, uh, panicked and ran."

"...Oh."

"Sorry. You expected me to hear it, someday, didn't you? When you thought you were facing your final moments, you tried to warn me and Tim to get as far away from the Institute as we could. Turns out that's not far, but it's the thought that counts."

"... So, s-side B?"

"Your rendition of _'A Guest for Mr. Spider'_ ," Martin answered quietly.

Jon stared at Martin as he avoided his gaze. The spiders continued tunnelling through him, enveloping him in a haze of pain. He didn't want to look at the flowers on the table.

"Anyway, you should try the next one. Get it over with, you know?" Martin suggested. "You can't afford to stop. I - I managed mine. I'm sure you can manage yours."

For lack of options, Jon lifted the third apple with shaking hands and bit into its side.

A squirming mass of black worms filled his hands and mouth. He let his arms fall to his sides. The worms fell across him and started burrowing. The ones in his mouth slid against the webs coating his tongue, and his spiders crawled out from beneath it to drag them down his throat, leashed with silk.

When the worms scattered across his torso and limbs had dug past his skin, deep into his muscles and bones, the closest spiders started rounding them up, webbing them into clusters nestled between his internal organs. Trapped in place, the worms wriggled against each other, pressed against dozens of his eyes, singing a damp and visceral song of consuming possession. A melody he'd glimpsed once before.

Forever a home. Forever enough, simply for existing. A warm body would never disappoint the Hive. Sweet as rot, buzzing with life, their song itched beneath his skin, a promise of endless communion.

He wanted to throw himself into a furnace. He wanted to cry. He wanted to sing. Since meeting Jane, he'd understood why she'd given in.

A sense of pressure settled over one hand. The buzzing harmony intensified there, welcoming the proximity of another hive. Beneath the wormsong, another vibration drew his attention, deeper and slower. Subtle notes plucked on silk thread resonated from the point of contact, a melodious counterpoint that rippled through him and continued along webs that stretched further than he could see.

Jon blinked, and his gaze settled on Martin's hand covering his own.

"Back with us?" Martin asked, a smile in his voice.

Jon looked into his eyes, still half-listening to the melodies that rippled between them. "Yes, we're back with you."

Martin nodded in satisfaction and let go of his hand. "See, that's why we eat the spiders first. They're good at keeping the worms in check."

"They're... good...?" Jon repeated in a daze. A swell of nausea rose in him, and he let it pass, too exhausted to do much else.

"Since Jane's hive is dead, Peter tracked down another avatar of Corruption with a similar set of guests," Martin explained. "He said it didn't have to be worms, but they'd be most effective, for the two of us. Our power stems from terror."

"You're trying... to terrify me...?" Jon asked, though it hurt to put it into words.

"I'm trying to make you stronger," Martin insisted. "This is all about offering you a controlled exposure to the fears, to help you triumph in your interactions with them. You're already pretty strong, but trust me, you need this boost. Does it help to hear that you're doing far better than I did? I mean, it took me the better part of an hour to stop crying, after the worms. Panic attack, you know? And I was too human, to start with. I had further to go, to catch up with you, and it hurt. I don't have the words to explain how badly it hurt. You're doing so, so much better, Jon. Believe me, you're doing so well..."

"Why... why do I need to be stronger?" Jon asked, only half expecting a clear answer.

"Shh, we can talk later. Try this one next. I think you could use it now." Martin handed him another apple.

Jon bit into the fruit, and found his teeth sinking into a lump of raw meat. He couldn't guess the species from the unfamiliar flavour, though perhaps that was beside the point. _Meat is meat._

Completely uncooked, it was too tough to chew, but after he'd sat there for a while, feeling ever more ridiculous, his spiders crawled forward and helped him pull his jaw closed. Once he'd bitten off a mouthful of flesh, he swallowed it without further fuss, letting his webs vibrate in unthinking thanks, and took another bite.

The worms in his stomach seemed to be enjoying themselves. Their song kicked up a notch as they dove into the unexpected meal. He finished it quickly, without lingering on the texture of the gristle and veins running through the meat.

"How was that?" Martin asked, watching him lick the bloody residue from his hands.

"Ah, not pleasant, but... not unpleasant?" Jon tried to figure it out as he spoke. "I don't think it matters what I thought. It was ours. More for all of us. More of us. Meat is... I, I can use this..."

Jon held up his right hand, and tugged on the strands of silk threaded through his tired muscles, curling his fingers backwards until the joints popped. His dislocated digits came to rest against the back of his hand. Wrenching the living flesh back the other way, he let his fingers pop back into place.

"Okay, that was gross," Martin told him. "Uh, well done anyway, I guess?"

"Didn't you enjoy this one?" Jon asked. He nudged his worms out of bones they didn't belong in until they reached the closest webs.

"It wasn't the worst, but I can't say I liked it either. It's mostly an animal fear, right? I don't like to think about the cruelty involved in factory farming," Martin explained. "I've almost gone vegetarian a few times, but I always settle on trying to buy from supply chains with high standards of animal welfare. That way, the cattle get to live a decent life, rather than just getting culled, the way they would if there was no demand. That's expensive, though... Uh, so opening myself to the idea that we're all on that level, lambs to the slaughter, nothing more or less than meat... I prefer to think that we've got more agency. That our souls have poetry and purpose. Feeling conflicted is, uh, pretty uncomfortable. But an uncomfortable fear is good, for our purposes, so I'm trying to embrace it anyway."

"You've thought this through," Jon observed. "I... I can feel a downside. A creeping doubt that I'm anything more than electrified flesh, just kidding itself into thinking it's ever known anything worth knowing. But I lost faith in my own intellectual capabilities when I met Leitner, and realised that my entire worldview had been steeped in naivety. That I have never known what happens in the dark, or what might happen when my back is turned. That I am becoming one of the monsters I have always abhorred. An enemy of humanity. My doubts already outnumber my points of reference. If anything, gaining a better sense of the physicality of my body is grounding. I still exist, for now. I am more than just eyes."

"... Oh. That's, uh, that's really bad. That you feel that way. Of course you're more than just eyes. You - you're still a person, Jon."

"Less so with every minute that passes," Jon told him quietly.

"N-no, even if you're a monster, you're a person too. I'm still Martin, aren't I? Or has all of this been enough to... Do you not even see me as...?"

Martin's voice cracked, and he didn't seem capable of finishing that thought aloud.

Jon leaned over and pulled him into a hug. "You're still Martin. I fear for you now, even more than I feared for you before. I don't know how much longer we'll be able to survive, or how much of ourselves we'll be able to hold onto. Avatars always lose their humanity, one way or another, and the fear never stops. We always hurt ourselves and those around us. I never wanted that for you. I tried to figure things out by myself, and I tried to rely on you, and none of it was enough to protect you. I'm sorry..."

Martin listened quietly, accepting the embrace. The things that crawled and slid within them sang a dampened song of togetherness and discordant purpose.

Eventually, Martin pulled away so they could speak face to face. There was a determined glint in his eyes as he replied. "I'm sorry things have been so tough. I know it'll be difficult for you to survive much longer, the way things are. That's why I'm trying to help. I won't abandon humanity, and I know you won't either. There are things you need to witness for yourself, to become strong enough to help the way you'll want to help, once you have all the facts. You said you believed me earlier. Do you believe me now?"

"I can believe that you're trying to help, but whether it will prove to be in anyone's best interests... I don't know, I can't tell. I don't know anything I can't see for myself..." Jon paused as he caught Martin suppressing a smile. "... I suppose I'm proving your point about the need to witness everything for myself. Direct experience and testimony, just as Elias said. I wish he'd been wrong."

"Look, I had to do my research, but now I know all I need to know, and I'm ready to guide you," Martin insisted. "These are dark times, but I can show you a path through the woods. Will you trust me?"

"Alright. If you're sure you know what you're doing." Jon sighed and looked away, suddenly feeling petulant for having complained. "I was cooperating anyway. You didn't exactly need to worry. It's not as if I'm going anywhere, so long as you're here. I've waited long enough to see you again."

His words came out grumpier than intended. The endless web shivered in amusement, and Martin smiled again.

"Hot or cold?" Martin asked, picking out a couple of apples.

"Hot," Jon replied instantly. He could use something to scour away the nausea that still lingered beneath his skin. Not that he expected to lose his new guests, but if there was ever a good time to get a painful experience over and done with...

Martin passed him an apple, and it melted into scalding hot wax in his mouth. Burning pain dripped down his hands and face. The heat bled into his core, wrenched his muscles into spasming, and turned his blood molten.

Did he deserve to go up in flames? His old life had already burned away. The Jonathan Sims who'd first dedicated himself to the cause would rather have died than become part of the problem. He was trampling on that boy's ashes. He'd already died. He should burn...

"...No, no, no, that's too much, please, no..."

Martin's voice filtered through the heat haze.

Jon tried to listen, and regained enough awareness of his surroundings to realise that they were hugging again. Martin was molten hot too, a furnace wrapped around his shoulders. Their clothes were soaked through with wax. Jon turned his gaze within, and found that his spiders and worms were cowering together beneath thick layers of webbing, helpless against the encroaching heat.

Of course. He hadn't lost everyone. Martin had a plan. He had hope. Hadn't he promised to trust him mere minutes ago?

"Sorry..." Jon drew back and tried to reign in the desolate heat. His skin cooled as his fear receded. The awful feeling settled into his veins as a latent energy, thrumming with the potential to flare up again.

Scratching against his bones, his little ones buzzed in relief and irritation. He hummed back in apology, and caught the vibrations of Martin soothing his own little biome.

"Are yours okay?" Jon checked.

"Yeah, we didn't lose a single egg," Martin assured him.

"Oh, good." Jon slumped back against the sofa, his guilt slightly assuaged.

"Fuck, that was too close. I, I'm sorry, I should have done more to prepare you, maybe, somehow...?" Martin gestured randomly with his hands, sounding absolutely frazzled.

"You're here. That's, that was enough."

Jon caught hold of Martin's hands and held on for a few minutes, letting their melodies stabilise.

"...Right. Right, it's enough," Martin eventually sighed. "That's five down, and only, only nine to go... oh, fuck...."

"I need to finish this, don't I?" Jon reminded him. "To survive, to strengthen myself, and to aid you in your plan, whatever it might be."

"Yeah. You do. I just, I didn't expect... You were ready to go. I could feel you..."

"I wasn't really. Only in the moment. These entities overwhelm us with fears that we would otherwise have managed to suppress." Jon hoped that didn't sound too much like an excuse.

"Right. I, I knew it would be harder to see you through this than to get through it myself. I can help you with the rest, too, but maybe, uh, not just yet? You can leave it for a few minutes, if you could use a break. I mean, I got through my first few at a rate of about two per hour."

"A break would be a good idea, yes." Jon didn't think he needed one, but he wasn't oblivious to the fact that Martin clearly did.

"Okay. Fifteen minutes? I'll set an alarm on my phone, and we can take a nap, that should be safe enough..."

Once Martin had finished fiddling with his phone, he set it down on the table. Jon caught his hand again and leaned his head on his shoulder as they settled themselves more comfortably on the sofa.

"It really is good to see you again," Jon mumbled into his hair.

Martin choked down a laugh and squeezed his hand. The infinite hive buzzed within them, and the web vibrated with echoes, and the ceaseless watcher continued watching over them and through them. All in all, it wasn't the quietest nap that Jon had ever taken, but it wasn't the loneliest either, and that had to count for something.


	3. Midnight snack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried to marathon a bit of writing this last week. The last episode had me staring at the fic outline I'd written during the mid-season break and kinda screaming internally, wishing I'd gotten this part posted sooner. 
> 
> Note on the 'canon asexual character' tag, added as there's been some discussion around: I appreciate all shades of ace rep explored in tma fic for Jon, including demi, sex-positive, -indifferent, -repulsed, etc. Each plotbunny can only use one option at a time, and for this one I've gone with something fairly relatable. (In terms of orientation, not in terms of the angsty plot.)

Jon tried not to fidget as he rested with Martin. After a few minutes of stillness, the lack of distractions had left him uncomfortably aware of his own aches and pains. 

His little spiders were busily re-stringing his muscles, replacing the webs that he'd melted in his fit of desolation. His flesh had returned to normal, once he'd cooled down, old scars included, though his clothes were still coated in cooling wax. Every cluster of worms ached and itched, though they more than made up for it with their sweet song, the all-encompassing love that they'd extended to him as soon as he'd offered them a home. His hand twitched in Martin's grasp, and his head shifted on his shoulder, no matter how hard he tried to keep still. Judging by the way Martin kept squeezing his hand in return, he could tell that he was feeling restless, but he still seemed to need this break from the evening's escapades.

Jon's gaze wandered back to the bowl of apples on the table. Now that he wasn't supposed to touch them, it was getting hard to tell dread from anticipation. He'd gotten most of his worst fears out of the way already, so the remaining ones might prove more palatable. Maybe. Hopefully. Either way, they were bound to grant him more useful powers. But Martin deserved a break. He'd set him worrying again if he announced that he couldn't wait to eat death.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he almost wanted to thank Elias for finally arranging some useful training — though he far more vehemently wanted to kill him for dragging Martin into all of this. 

Jon stared through the window at the plants on the balcony, starkly illuminated by the nearest streetlight. If Elias had been the one feeding him eldritch horrors, then he could have complained harder, and convinced himself that he still felt more human than he really did.

With every shred of humanity he lost, the Watcher's Crown became a more plausible threat. He needed to figure out a way to avert Beholding's ritual before he lost all perspective, and he didn't know how much time he had left. If he couldn't come up with something soon, then he ought to burn, to protect the world from the monster he was becoming... But this wasn't the time or the place.

Martin had been absolutely adamant that neither of them would abandon humanity. That was reason enough to hear him out. Besides, he owed Martin his time and attention, after the mess he'd made of these last few years.

Both of them startled when Martin's phone went off. A burst of trilling violin music spilled from the device until Martin reached over with his free hand to dismiss the alarm.

"How are you feeling?" Martin finally turned his attention back to Jon.

"Hm? Fine, I'm fine... The Lark Ascending?" Jon couldn't keep an edge of amusement out of his voice, even though there was nothing terribly strange about the choice.

"It's nice music to wake up to." Martin sounded slightly defensive. "Gently stirring, but not jarring, you know?"

"I can see how it would be, first thing in the morning." Jon took a moment to stretch his free arm, tilting his neck to ease the stiffness that had set in. "You used Vivaldi as your alarm, when you were living in the archives. La primavera."

"I switch it up sometimes." Martin gave him a mildly confused look.

"Do you prefer Vaughan Williams?" Jon asked, out of curiosity.

"Lately, yeah." Martin relaxed back against the sofa. "Did you know that The Lark Ascending was inspired by a poem? Of the same name."

"Yes." Jon took a moment to dredge up his general knowledge. "George Meredith."

"For singing till his heaven fills, 'tis love of earth that he instils," Martin recited, holding Jon's gaze. "And ever winging up and up, our valley is his golden cup, and he the wine which overflows to lift us with him as he goes." 

Jon found himself waiting for more, even as the words echoed along the threads stretched through them. His throat was dry, and itchy, though that was probably more due to the wax and the worms than the poetry. "...Go on."

"I haven't memorised the whole thing, but those lines stuck with me." Martin thought for a few seconds, squeezing his hand again, then recited a part from nearer the end. "Wherefore their soul in me, or mine, through self-forgetfulness divine, in them, that song aloft maintains, to fill the sky and thrill the plains."

"...You must read me some of your poetry, when you have the chance." Jon offered him a smile, hoping he wasn't aware of the time he'd rifled through the poems in his desk and complained about them on tape. In all honesty, he'd found them more affecting than he'd believed he should have, considering their technical limitations, so he'd cast about for reasons to disdain them. Such a misguided effort...

"Ah, I don't know. It's really not comparable. And like I said, I've been too busy to get back to it lately." Martin blushed and turned away, though Jon didn't let him pull his hand free. "Anyway, you should carry on with your, uh, meal. Do you feel stable, right now?"

"Yes, nothing's getting any worse," Jon assured him. "I dare say you erred on the side of caution with the fifteen minute break." 

"Okay, good. Which fear do you think would be the easiest to face next?" Martin's hand hovered over the fruit bowl. "The Hunt, maybe, or the Vast...?"

"Actually, I'd like to tackle the End." 

Martin froze up for a moment. When he responded, his voice went predictably high with tension. "Don't you think you'd better build up to that one with more of a shift in perspective first? In case you forgot, you were really, really close to - "

"I know, I just... I don't think I can get through this by running from anything," Jon admitted. "You managed it earlier, didn't you?"

"I knew what I was waiting for." Martin's voice resonated with an odd intensity, something a shade away from fury.

"I know I don't want to go anywhere while you're here. While you need me," Jon replied quietly. "If I forget, you can remind me again, can't you? Just like last time."

Martin shook his head, letting his hand fall to the edge of the sofa. There was no strength left in his voice when he ventured a reply. "No, last time... In the hospital. You couldn't hear me."

"...Oh. I... Even then, I didn't want to die. That's why I held on. I had a life I wanted to return to. And I, I'm here now. I can hear you now. If anything's going to make a difference, it won't be bloodlust or vertigo, or whatever else the other entities can offer. They're all fears, and I won't give them the chance to shake my determination, now that I'm psyched up to deal with this one first. Doesn't that make sense?"

Martin sighed, and his head dipped in a tremulous movement that might have been meant as a nod. "Okay. That makes sense."

"If there's anything else you can do first, to help me feel you more thoroughly...?" Jon suggested, in case he had any other ideas.

Martin leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, a soft brush of lips against his skin.

"Thank you." Jon hoped that wasn't too awkward, as a response. He wondered whether Martin had tried that strategy in the hospital too. He'd woken up wondering how he'd be greeted...

Without uttering another word, Martin dug out an apple from the bottom of the pile and handed it over. 

The sweet smell of fruit vanished as Jon bit into a piece of bone, so old and decayed that it crumbled into powder in his mouth. He licked up the remains from his hand, waiting to feel different.

He didn't feel any different. _The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one_. 

Georgie's face surfaced in his memory, as it sometimes did. When she'd walked away, he'd tried to understand the resignation in her eyes and the disapproval on her lips. _If this really is a second chance, please try to take it. But I don't think that it is_.

She'd been right, as always. She'd waited by his bedside, but in the end, her Jon hadn't woken up. A nightmare incarnate had stolen his remains, dangling enough of his memories behind his eyes to convince him that he was still alive, and he'd fallen for it, serving an evil god while telling himself that his priorities hadn't changed.

He'd spent the last few months figuring it out, letting reality poke holes in the shroud of his denial. As the _Archivist_ , if he wanted to avoid disgracing the original Jon's legacy any further, he should spend the last of his borrowed time on a cause worth dying for. The coffin hadn't claimed him, but there were surely other powers' rituals coming up, other chances to die or seal himself away... He knew he'd regret anything painful, the kind of unending torment that had claimed Jan and Michael, but if it meant averting an apocalypse without sacrificing anyone else in his place, then it wouldn't be _wrong_. And as Michael had proven, nothing was necessarily as endless as it might seem.

"Uh, Jon? You've been really quiet." Martin's nails dug into his hand.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to worry you." Jon offered him a weak smile. 

"What happened?" Martin asked, studying his face. 

"Nothing to write home about," Jon assured him. "This one had a familiar taste."

Martin sucked in a sharp breath and gripped his hand hard enough to hurt. 

Jon curled his other hand around the back of Martin's neck, and drew him down until he could reach up to place a kiss on his forehead. 

"What...?" Martin sounded more worried than pleased.

"I decided I'd eat my fruit, and then return the favour," Jon explained. "One more piece of unfinished business."

Martin sighed and pulled him into a hug. The warmth of his broad frame settled across his chest, wrapped around his back, and nestled against his neck, easing away tensions that he hadn't even noticed until they'd lifted. Jon let his head rest on his shoulder again, his hands clutching at his back, shifting with each buzzing breath. Hugs were definitely better than kisses, especially when he didn't have to keep still. 

"Death wasn't supposed to be an easy one," Martin mumbled in his ear.

Jon drew back, sharply reminded of Georgie and Basira's disappointment that he'd woken from his coma feeling fine. "Would you rather I'd struggled?"

Martin shook his head. "If you accepted it that easily, you're already struggling."

"Oh." Jon couldn't exactly argue.

"Do you want to -"

"Would you - "

They both spoke at once, and Martin paused to let him finish.

"Would you pass me the Buried?" Jon asked. "I'd like to get that one out of the way too."

"Sure." Martin still sounded uneasy, but he handed over an apple from the top of the pile without complaint. 

Jon took a moment to steel himself, then cupped the fruit in both hands and took a bite. Dry earth spilled over his tongue, and he choked it down before taking another bite, trying to avoid letting much fall from his hands. It helped that he knew what to expect. 

The earth clogged in his throat, triggering an aftershock of the panic that had seized him in the coffin, during the worst hours, when conversation had been impossible and he and Daisy had barely been able to keep hold of each other's hands. His throat spasmed in an effort to breathe, until he managed to remind himself that he didn't need to breathe up here, any more than he'd truly needed to down there. 

He stuffed as much earth as he could into his mouth, then dropped the rest onto the table. At his invitation, a cluster of worms in his arm wriggled their way up to his skin. He plucked them out and popped them in his mouth. So long as he was hosting a colony of worms, he might as well enlist their help digesting soil. 

His little ones took to the task with relish, writhing through the dense earth until the blockage in his throat started to disintegrate. He made a hopeless effort to wipe his hands clean on his waxy clothes, then reached out to hold Martin's hand again while he waited.

Martin humoured him, and gave him a slightly wide-eyed stare. "You didn't need to rush it..."

Jon rolled his eyes, keeping his mouth closed as a steady trickle of worms and soil fell into his stomach.

"Okay. I'm glad you found a solution." 

Martin glanced at the leftover earth on the table, looking conflicted. Judging from the buzzing vibrations travelling through his hand, his little ones were getting jealous. 

Jon lifted a generous pinch of soil between his fingers and held it out in a wordless offer. 

Martin hesitated, then nodded and leaned in to suck it from his fingers. The buzzing of his worms brightened, and he licked his lips as he leaned back against the sofa. A few seconds later, he tensed up, staring off into the distance.

"Mmh?" Jon tried to enquire as to the problem. 

Martin blinked a few times, then drew a deep breath and turned to him, tension still evident in his movements. "I - I'm okay, it's just... It's really hitting home. We're not human anymore. I already knew it, but when it intrudes on even the quiet moments..."

Jon nodded, trying to adopt a sympathetic expression. He wasn't terribly confident that he could convey how he was feeling, no matter how hard he tried. Most of his attempts at offering sympathy resulted in people yelling at him anyway.

"Ah, s-sorry. I'm the one who pushed you into this in the first place, I shouldn't be complaining..." Martin sounded as though he was making himself even more upset. 

Jon wrapped an arm around Martin's shoulders, trying to offer a comfortable pressure and a sense of reassurance, even though he still couldn't quite talk. 

"Oh. Thanks." Martin sighed and accepted the gesture.

Jon swallowed the last few dregs of earth, and coughed into his elbow. He turned his attention to pile on the table. How long would it take to slog through the rest of it with the same approach? 

"No need to worry about finishing it," Martin advised. "I don't think you'll gain any more power that way, if you're not scared anymore."

"Ah. That saves us some time." Jon coughed again, wincing at the dryness of his throat. For the first time, he wished his worms were slimier. Maybe he should ask for a glass of water...

"Why don't you wash it down with this one?" Martin suggested, shrugging free of his embrace and picking out another apple.

Jon accepted it from him, and took a minute to study it. He couldn't tell which power it contained, and the hint that it was a liquid didn't entirely narrow it down. One of the fears associated with blood, perhaps? Martin would surely tell him if he asked, but there might be a benefit to letting it take him by surprise, bearing in mind that his power was rooted in fear.

After weighing up his options, Jon tilted his head back and took a wide bite out of the underside of the apple.

Frigid salt water poured into his mouth. He hunched over and coughed reflexively, hacking up water into his hands. It splashed into his lap, wreathed with a thin mist that only grew denser as the cold liquid soaked into his clothes. Clammy fog drifted from his mouth and swirled in front of his eyes, leaching the warmth from the air. 

No matter which way he turned, he couldn't see through the fog. He stretched out his hands, and couldn't feel anyone else nearby. 

The Lonely... Honestly, he'd have much preferred blood...

The fog rolled through the air, damp against his skin, spreading cold dread with its touch. His little ones scritched away quietly at his insides, their mood dampened along with his own. This was temporary, it had to be temporary, but a vicious doubt took hold in his mind even as he tried to quell it. Maybe this was permanent. Martin would never willingly betray him, but Peter Lukas had put him up to this. 

Peter had apparently wanted Martin to fill Jon's shoes in his grand plan. If he never found his way out of the fog, then Peter would have his own way after all. 

Jon told himself to call out to Martin, to see if he could help. He had a foothold in this domain too. But his breath lay heavy in his chest. If he tried and failed...

The hopeless atmosphere felt all too familiar. The Magnus Institute may not have been filled with fog when Lukas took over, but the place had been stifled by the Lonely's influence all the same. Especially in those first few months after Jon's return to work, when Martin had shunned him, Melanie had threatened him, and Basira had made it clear that she no longer cared whether he lived or died. 

Back then, he'd made a habit of spending hours sitting on the floor of the archives, waiting for his life to make sense. He'd waited for statements to call to him, and tried to figure out how to make amends. He'd written letters to Tim and Sasha. He'd spent days waiting for a friendly voice to interrupt the silence, to tell him to take a break, to make it clear that he was still welcome in at least one person's presence... 

Salt water stung his cracked lips again. He blinked, and realised he was crying. He hadn't let himself cry, back then. He'd tried to focus, to figure out what he could do to make up for his existence...

Oh, fuck, he was definitely crying now. Sobs rose in his throat, and the noise was muffled by the fog, but the sensation still hurt his chest. He couldn't see, but there was nothing to see anyway.

Those days were over. He'd brought back Daisy, and Melanie was doing better in some senses of the word, and Basira was willing to hold a conversation if either of them had information that they were ready to share. 

Martin had come back to him. Martin wouldn't turn him away again. If he called out, if he heard, there'd be nothing to fear, so he shouldn't let himself choke on rejection without even trying. 

"M-Martin, please... ah, can you hear me, are you still there...?" He forced out a whisper, closing his eyes against the sting of fog and tears.

"I'm still here, Jon. Can you hear me too?" 

"Yes..." Jon reached out, and his hand met Martin's arm.

When he opened his eyes, the fog was gone. He took a couple of shaky breaths, then scrambled round and dove into another hug. Martin let him cry on his shoulder, stroking his back and keeping up a soothing hum until he stopped trembling.

"Feeling any better?" Martin eventually asked.

Jon sighed and nodded. He took a few more moments to get his breath back before attempting a reply. "I think so. I'm sorry, I couldn't... I wasn't sure, kept telling myself to try, things would be different, you're here now. Ah, s-sorry, I'm being too..."

"Shh, it's okay. You're allowed to be upset," Martin told him. 

"I knew it was coming, at some point. All the powers, right? I said I'd try, there's a reason, it'll be worth it, if you say so. I still, I'm not quitting." 

"Okay. You're not quitting. But even if you're on board, you can feel upset in the meantime. It's understandable. That went pretty badly."

"Sorry..." Jon hunched in on himself, resting his forehead on Martin's shoulder.

"No, it's not your fault. It's like you said earlier. These entities overwhelm us with fears that we'd have otherwise suppressed. You got through this one, and if you've built up some resistance, that should be enough. You don't need to be able to draw on it as easily as the others."

"Ah." Jon relaxed slightly, though he didn't feel like moving just yet. "Well, that's good. That being enough."

"Do you want to take a break for ten or twenty minutes, maybe?"

"No, I think I'm more or less okay." Jon almost asked how much time he'd wasted in the fog, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Alright. Remember, there's no immediate rush. You're more than halfway through. Eight down, six to go."

Jon nodded, and shifted back into his half of the sofa. He rubbed his face, and only managed to smear mud into his eyes. 

"Hang on, I'll fetch another towel." 

Martin headed over to the kitchenette. Jon squinted at him, blinking away dirt and biting back a protest. Martin wasn't close enough, all the way over there, and the air was too cold in his absence. But Jon retained enough presence of mind to guess that if he told him to come back immediately, he'd belie his claim that he was 'more or less okay'.

While he waited, Jon let a couple of spiders crawl across his hand. When he asked sweetly, they bit his fingers, creating sore spots of warmth to chase away the lingering chill in his bones.

Jon looked up to see Martin standing by the sink, watching him. When their eyes met, Martin smiled and walked over. He stopped next to the sofa, and handed Jon a tea towel freshly soaked in warm water. 

Jon scrubbed at his eyes until he'd cleared his vision. He draped the tea towel over the arm of the sofa, then blinked up at Martin. "What next?"

Martin studied him for a few more seconds, then leaned over to pick up another apple and drop it into his hands. "Why don't we refocus our efforts? You might get along better with this one."

"Right, then." Jon held the apple in his cupped hands, since that had been the best approach so far, and took a cautious bite. 

Hot blood flowed into his mouth and filled his hands. A sharp and tangy scent suffused the air. When he swallowed his first mouthful, the warmth finally soothed his throat. Drinking from his palms, he gulped down the rest, heeding his little ones' impatience for the feast. A few drops spilled down his arms, and he licked away the trails along his wrists, down to the point where they disappeared beyond his sleeves.

His vision felt sharper when he glanced around the room, sucking the last traces of blood from his fingers. He could hear Martin's steady heartbeat nearby, and the overlapping melodies of their many, many guests. The walls creaked quietly under their own weight, and the other apartments on this floor were silent. As were the ones on the floor above, and the floor below.

"Do you have neighbors?" Jon asked, scanning the room while listening for the answer.

"Not exactly, no. The Lukas family owns this whole building," Martin told him.

Jon suppressed the urge to growl. Lukas had been isolating Martin even outside of work. Not that his old place could have been much better, if nobody had made any effort to check on him while Jane had stalked outside his door.

"You should sleep in the tunnels, with the rest of us." Jon looked up to study Martin's reaction as he spoke. "We have stockpiles of food and drink. And spare mattresses, from Georgie's sponsors. She's still in touch with Melanie, and she doesn't have enough storage space to keep all of the review samples..."

Jon trailed off, fearing he might have gone on an unnecessary tangent. Martin hadn't looked pleased when he'd brought up Georgie.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be moving into the tunnels," Martin replied in a somewhat strained voice.

"You don't understand. You've invited me to stay tonight, and that's... fine, but then..." Jon hesitated, trying to find the words. "Every other night, you'll be far away. I won't know that you're safe."

Martin bit the insides of his lips and pulled a strange face. After a moment, his expression closed off, and he shook his head. "Jon, please focus on the task set before you."

Stifling a hiss of frustration, Jon turned back to his meal. He'd pursue the issue later. For now, he pulled the fruit bowl into his lap. Everything within it was a weapon, an answer, and a pathway to the absolving purpose that Martin had promised him. 

Jon took hold of an apple in each hand, but Martin seized his wrists before he could devour them. 

"Wait, no. I'm glad you're keen, but you need to try them one at a time. Don't let them splash on each other, that could get dangerous..." Martin pried the apples from his hands, then placed the bowl back on the table.

"Fine. What next?" Jon asked, hearing his voice turn more snappish than he'd intended.

"How about... Here, this one." Martin placed a different apple in his hand. "Don't start it yet. Wait until I tell you to."

"Alright." Jon spun the fruit on his palm, resisting the urge to dig his nails into its skin. He waited while Martin went to stand by the fire extinguisher near the front door.

"Okay, go for it." Martin gave him a thumbs up sign. 

Gunpowder filled Jon's mouth when he sank his teeth into the next item on the menu. Sulphurous and foul, the taste overwhelmed his senses, and he sat frozen for a few moments before he managed to choke any of it down. 

When he still had half a mouthful left, he spat it out into the tea towel. Lukas had made Martin eat gunpowder? How fucking ridiculous...

He staggered off the sofa, and plucked at the webs strung through his muscles to puppet his own overtired limbs. As he took a lurching step towards the front door, Martin moved to block his path.

"Sit down, Jon. You need - " 

"I'm going to kill Peter Lukas." 

Jon tried to veer around Martin, but he stepped in front of him again, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

"No. No, you're not. That's the gunpowder talking." 

Jon swayed on the spot and glared at Martin. How could he have gone along with so much mistreatment, from Peter, from Elias, from everyone...? 

"Lukas kept you from me. He stole your humanity. I. Will. Hurt. Him." 

"Stay with me, Jon, please. We're not finished." Martin stepped closer into his space, holding his gaze. 

"Why shouldn't I kill Lukas?"

"Because you'll lose. He's old and strong, and he has allies, and he's expecting trouble in the event that anything goes wrong today, and the rest of the Lukas family will come after you if you actually - "

"I won't lose." Jon sucked in a breath between gritted teeth and gazed around the room. "Unlock the door, or I'm going through the window."

"No, that's not happening." Martin sounded angry too. "Sit down, Jon. You're not going anywhere, least of all - "

"Martin, I can't just - "

"Sit down and don't breathe another word about leaving before morning." Martin pointed a shaking hand at the sofa.

Jon hesitated, stealing another glance at the door, but he was starting to suspect that he wasn't going to win this one.

When he took a step towards the sofa, he came over woozy in the wake of the furious adrenaline rush that had carried him here. His mind fumbled, threads snapped from misuse, and he slid to the floor before he could take another step.

Martin sighed and carried him back to the sofa.

"Sorry. You were right. I would've lost," Jon mumbled, once he was lying down again.

"You're definitely taking a break now." Martin's tone brooked no argument.

"Mm, five minutes." Jon clutched at the cushions, adrift in a fresh wave of pain as his spiders tunnelled through him, mending his snapped threads and nipping at him in reproach. "Talk to me."

Martin brought over the desk chair and sat next to the sofa. He leaned over Jon and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "What do you want to talk about?"

Jon thought back to Martin's instructions when he'd handed him the tenth course. _Don't start it yet_. "Did you know I'd go for the door?"

"I knew you'd get angry. I didn't know exactly what you'd focus on, but yeah, there was a risk you'd try to leave."

"Ah." Jon hesitated, gazing up at Martin. He seemed perfectly calm right now. "How did that one affect you, at the Institute? If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind, but it's not much of a story," Martin warned him. 

"Tell me anyway." 

"Okay. For context, I'd just tried the Hunt, which made me certain that I should go fetch you. That we should bring you in on the plan immediately, because the sooner you knew everything, the sooner you'd fix everything, including the parts of the idea that didn't sound ideal. Peter blocked my way to the door, and reminded me what I'd agreed to. I tried to stare him down, which was... really pointless in retrospect. 

Eventually, he talked me into trying at least one more power first. When the Slaughter took hold, I got really afraid that he'd been lying to me. I was convinced that he'd never tell you anything, and I'd never see you again, and he'd been keeping us apart just to feed his god.

So I, before I could think better of it, I tried to punch Peter. He pulled me into a headlock. I'm not sure how long I lost it for, but I spent a while screaming at him and trying to kick him. I don't think I managed to hurt him. When I gave up, he let me go."

Martin smiled and shrugged as he finished his story.

Jon spent a few minutes staring up at him, lost for words.

"I told you there wasn't much to it," Martin added.

"I... I will help you patch up any holes in the plan. When you're ready to share it." Jon didn't dare comment on anything else.

"Of course you will." Martin gave him a resigned smile. He didn't sound as if he expected anything along those lines.

"I mean it. You're really worrying me today, and I - I'm sure you can tell that that's an understatement. I won't go along with anything unless you can get through it safely."

"Thanks for worrying. It really depends on how well everything goes tomorrow." Martin's smile edged towards fond amusement. "You'd better listen to me tonight if you want to be of any help in the morning. Jumping through the window won't solve anything."

"I wouldn't have... Uh, you wouldn't have let me. And I wouldn't have gotten far anyway," Jon admitted, his face heating in embarrassment. 

"Can you sit up yet?" Martin checked.

"Let me see..." Jon winced when he moved, but he still managed to drag himself upright. His spiders were almost done, and the story had helped.

Martin's hand hovered over the apples for a few seconds before he picked one out. Jon accepted it from him carefully. Considering the remaining choices, he could safely expect something disorienting. 

Sawdust and formaldehyde greeted him this time, sticking between his teeth. The smell probably would have made him gag, if he'd been human. He couldn't quite bring himself to move. His skin itched as his guests continued making themselves comfortable. Out of nowhere, he vividly recalled Melanie's description of Sarah Baldwin peeling off the skin of her arm and stapling it back on. At this point, he could do the same.

Lurching music pulsed between his ears, building like a headache. A familiar tune. He'd danced with Nikola, and Tim had said... Basira had tried... Daisy... Gertrude... Leitner... _Tim_...

Something brushed against his face, and a competing tune reasserted itself. Home, and belonging, and worthwhile pain. The home he could provide to those who stayed with him, forever within him.

"...Jon?" Martin was talking, sat beside him on the sofa once again. He got the impression he hadn't caught most of the words.

"I... I remember the Unknowing," Jon whispered. "When I woke up, I couldn't recall much. Music. Dancing. Gertrude's voice. But now, I... everything..."

"Oh." Martin's fingers brushed more tears from his face, letting soothing notes ripple through his skin in their wake.

"Tim wanted to go out that way. And he never forgave me."

"Oh..." 

"The detonator. I gave it to Nikola, when I didn't know what it was anymore, and Tim ended up grabbing it, but he didn't know either. I compelled him into seeing it for what it was, and he brought the ritual to an end. I think I wanted him to run first, to survive, but I also... I knew he wouldn't run. I let him die. For a split second, I _saw_ him die. I wouldn't have caught it if I didn't belong to the Eye."

"Oh, Tim..." Martin slumped on his shoulder, echoing his distress.

"I brought him to Nikola's door. I told him what to do. And just like that, he died."

"Not your fault." Martin's muffled words sounded sincere, but not terribly convincing.

"When I woke up, I visited his grave, without even knowing how thoroughly I'd failed him. I had to go by myself, everyone else had already attended his funeral, months ago..."

"I'm sorry." Martin was crying too, damp against his neck, heavy against his side.

The night slipped by. Jon found himself wondering whether he should wait out whatever deadline he was on, leaving the last three apples untouched, and test Martin's promise that he wouldn't survive that way.

As if sensing his thoughts, Martin fumbled for another apple and shoved it into his hands. 

"Which one?" Jon asked, needing to know this time.

"Spiral," Martin informed him.

"Oh." Jon stared at it for a few moments, wondering whether it could make things worse, and decided to find out.

Rancid coffee poured over his tongue and dripped through his fingers. The room spun, losing colour until everything was bleached white or stained black. His arms twitched, aching and restless. He didn't like coffee. 

A fly in a cardigan offered him an apple. 

His reply hissed between his teeth, scathing and dismissive. " _MR. SPIDER DOESN’T LIKE FRUIT_."

The fly spoke in a familiar voice. "Maybe he doesn't like fruit, but you do."

He tried to ask what he meant, but his mouth wouldn't move. His arms wouldn't move. The flowers drooped over the table, a dark smudge of ink. His eyes wouldn't close.

"Remember that time I brought in a cheese and apple sandwich, back when we were both researchers? You said it looked disgusting, but when I offered you a piece, you tried it anyway. I could tell by the way your eyes widened that you liked it, even before you smiled. I offered you the rest, but you said you couldn't possibly deprive me of my lunch. You made yourself the same sandwich the next day."

Martin shouldn't be here. In this room, in his life, it wasn't safe, it was already too late for both of them. He wanted to throw out the flowers, but he couldn't move.

"Over the next few weeks, you tried out a bunch of those fancy cheeses, the sort with apricots or blueberries included. You were always a little irritated when I asked what you were eating, but you showed me anyway. I stopped asking when you stopped trying anything new. That was back when you were still organised enough to bring in your own lunch."

How exactly was this relevant? He wouldn't mind listening to Martin reminisce, but it wasn't safe, there was... something... Bluebells? No, he'd said blueberries. The room was a blur, a spreading bruise of black ink. 

"I brought in food to share with the office a little more often, after that. When I offered you tropical fruit, you said it was too messy to bother with, but when I made fruit salad in the break room, you tried it just before it ran out. And then you brought in tropical flavoured yoghurts for a few weeks. You always seemed to enjoy yourself more when you were trying something new. I started to realise that you were more curious than anyone would guess, from first impressions."

His head hurt. Coffee always gave him a headache. He couldn't open his eyes.

"You had your ideas about what was proper, but if anything out of the ordinary caught your attention, you'd follow that thread until you understood exactly what it had to offer. That was what made you such a good researcher, when you were assigned to the Institute's open investigations. More so than your academic background, though I admired that too."

"Martin, what... why are you telling me this now?"

"At first, I thought that was why you got so much more irritable when we were transferred to the Archives. Suddenly you were stuck with all the closed cases, and we had to spend our days re-opening investigations into old statements where the leads were stale or nonexistent. It didn't bring out the best in you. I could see you getting more tired and frustrated every week. Then the siege put all of us under even more pressure, and it was downhill from there, at least according to the others, but I... By then, I knew I could trust you."

"I'm sorry. I wish I'd lived up to... anything...."

"You don't need to apologise again. Would you open your eyes?"

Jon rubbed his face, and winced at the sour coffee smell. He opened his eyes, and Martin greeted him with a faint smile.

"Would you like another apple?"

"Yes. Two left..?" 

Lightning sparked in his mouth. His hands burned. The room dropped away, a speck in an endless void. London streets flickered past his eyes. Statement-givers' homes. The night sky reflected in the ocean. The stars gazed back at him. There was no end to the void, but he had to keep watch. 

Staring down the wrong end of a telescope, he saw a small movement, somewhere that ought to matter, but didn't. He wanted it to matter, even if the void didn't care.

With a vertiginous lurch, he drew himself back into the room, leaving just a few dozen eyes watching the sky. 

"One left." Martin offered him a smile with too many sharp edges. 

Small movements took more focus than large ones. Everything was too small, and too bright against the darkness that bled between his teeth. True night enveloped him, letting his eyes rest. There was nothing to watch. He could hear scratching between his ribs, between the walls, between the earth and the spaces beneath. He could live on blind fear for a lifetime...

Three lines of calligraphy surfaced in his mind. _Grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call_. Gerry had written those words beneath a painting, and case #0132806 had brought his message to the Archives. One of the first statements he'd read, in his new role. He had a purpose. Martin had a plan.

He opened his eyes, and he was still in the dark. He couldn't smell fruit. He had to find his way out, so he wouldn't call for rescue. Night was as true as day. 

The webs strung between his ribs led in a different direction, out through his chest. He crawled along his insides until he hit a wall. 

The room stank of gunpowder, blood, coffee and formaldehyde. He blinked at the wall, wondering why Gerry had considered it so difficult to catch the right scent on a hunt. 

"Are you okay over there?" Martin asked, leaning over the edge of the sofa.

Jon rested against the wall, wishing it would stop spinning. "I... I'm here..."

"Okay, good. Wait there while I unfold the sofabed. I'll leave the cushions out on the balcony, they're a bit of a mess, but I've got some spare bedcovers in the airing cupboard. Do you want to shower or anything?"

"N-no. I. Need to sleep."

"Right, just a minute then..."

Jon picked wax off his coat, but found he couldn't take it off until he melted it with a quick blast of desolate heat. His hands shook as he set the ruined coat aside. He could sleep in the rest of his clothes, while he was this tired.

Martin looked up as he finished setting up the sofabed. "Want to borrow some pajamas?"

"Ah. Yes."

His arms kept spinning, too many for each sleeve, until Martin offered to help him get changed. That made things simpler. 

"Safety pin?" Jon asked, when he realised how baggy the pajamas were on him. "I n-need to be able to stand in these, while I'm asleep. Nightmares."

"Okay..." Martin fetched a safety pin, and didn't ask questions as he helped him adjust the fit.

When they made it to the edge of the bed, Jon made himself sit up for a minute, rather than lying down. He had a few more questions to ask. "That last one, the Dark. How... what was it? Felt more.. substance than shadow. Tasty."

Martin sat beside him, and turned to him with a proud smile. "Plasma from the heart of a dark star. She skimmed off the outer layers for me, and gave you the core. I've got to admit, she outdid herself there."

"She? Manuela...?"

"Oh. Her too, I guess. But I was talking about Annabelle."

Jon nodded in a daze, and tried to remember what else he'd wanted to say. "...Tomorrow. What's next?"

"We'll be paying a visit to Hilltop Road house. It's... ah, how did Eugene put it? A scar in reality, compounded by the interference of multiple powers. Now that we're marked by all of them, we should be able to navigate it safely. It's a problem that we need to deal with. Or at least, it's a way in. I'll tell you more tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning." Martin patted his shoulder, then started to leave.

"Wait. Don't, don't go." A wisp of fog curled in Jon's throat. "Would you sleep here?"

"...Really?" Martin sounded completely incredulous.

"I think, if you're gone for hours, I'll still... feel like you'll disappear again, or I will. Either way, never. See you again. The fog, the dark, the void... If I, if I was alone for long, I'd slip, wouldn't be me for much longer."

"Oh, right. Right, I'll be back in a minute."

Jon traced fractals on the blanket until Martin returned in a pair of pajamas with a paw print pattern. He fell asleep holding Martin's wrist, wondering why he'd ever thought he could anchor himself to reality through his own efforts alone.


	4. Day trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever written quite so much so quickly. Been marathoning this chapter through means I shouldn't really have, like sneaking in a bit of writing at work and staying up late just because there's no time otherwise. Gotten genuinely angry at time for not stopping when I wasn't finished writing for the night. I... might not write fic for a currently ongoing season again. But I'm glad to have gotten this story finished.
> 
> Content warning: Jon ended up very sex repulsed ace in this part, and while there's still no sex, and he doesn't doubt his orientation or hate himself for it, it does lead to some feel-bad situations. Feel free to ask for more detail if you think you might need more warnings; I'm thezolblade on tumblr, allthescribbles on twitter, and RosehipQuartz on the Rusty Quill discord.  
> (Btw, Jon's more repulsed than me, since it made sense for the character, but every sentiment he expresses on the topic is a mood, albeit not the only mood.)
> 
> Also, it's still a horror story that needs all the gory tags, so keep them in mind.

Jon's captive dreamers didn't seem to notice any difference in him that night. To be fair, most of them were too preoccupied by their own torments to subject him to close scrutiny. Whenever they managed to tear their gaze away from the violence that haunted their dreams, they regarded him with a similar dread. He stared back, drinking in every detail, because there was nothing else he could do.

Helen might have noticed that something was wrong, but even now - especially now - he refused to open that door. 

The Eye watched over him, pinning him beneath the weight of its gaze. The Eye watched through him, turning him ever more thoroughly into a conduit for the rejuvenating terror that fed them both. 

Most nights, he could feel another gaze prickling across his skin, and he'd long since come to assume that it was Elias. This time, an additional unseen observer had joined them, as unwaveringly intent as the others. Had Martin managed to follow him here, now that he was bound to Beholding more closely than ever before?

The nightmares steadily flowed into one another until he reached a point in the cycle where the chaos abated. 

Georgie stood before him. She looked well. That was good to know, even if he'd rather not be here. Standing in the center of the room, she crossed her arms and gave him a well-practiced pitying stare. 

After a moment, she frowned in slight confusion as she looked him over, then mouthed the word _'Martin?'_

Jon couldn't look away from her, but he had eyes at enough angles to catch sight of his own appearance at the splintered edges of his vision. Earlier, he'd been too tired to pay much attention to the pajamas he'd borrowed; they were blue and blotchy and better than nothing, considering his social schedule for the night. Now that he paid them a little more attention, the blotches came into focus as a pattern of rainbow-coloured clouds scattered across the navy blue fabric. The baggy top rested unevenly on his shoulders, and the sleeves covered his hands as they hung by his sides. 

He bit his lip, unable to speak. This was a far cry from his usual nightwear of grey joggers and custom-printed t-shirts bearing messages such as _'I'm sorry'_ , _'I'm really, really sorry'_ , and _'Say hi to The Admiral for me'_.

Apparently she could read him well enough to take his awkward silence as an answer. She rolled her eyes, and her gaze was slightly less pitying for the rest of the dream. 

He had a feeling she'd be rather more worried if she knew why he was sleeping in Martin's clothes.

After she'd faded, he drifted through the rest of his dreamscape, regaining strength as he reluctantly soaked up his guests' terror. 

When his gaze was drawn up to the monstrosity that filled the sky, he fell into the endless depths of its pupil. A familiar thrill of fear suffused him, stirring up his insatiable hunger for terrible knowledge, and cementing the aching certainty that he was home. He was whole.

An eternity slipped by in an instant. His god set him adrift, letting him claw his way toward wakefulness. He owed it far more information before it would let him rest in a permanent embrace.

Sunlight spilled into Martin's apartment. Jon could see his own body curled up on the sofa bed from his vantage point near the ceiling. Martin sat cross-legged on the mattress behind him, watching him with an avid gaze. His expression was unsmiling and focused. The only movement in the room was the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He didn't seem worried by the fact that Jon wasn't breathing.

Waking up slowly, Jon let his presence unfurl through the air, and opened his eyes in a gradually widening spiral over the streets of London. 

Martin blinked and glanced up at the ceiling, then smiled and climbed out of bed. He took a moment to stretch, then headed for the kitchenette and switched on the kettle.

Jon lingered outside of his body, even as he watched Martin hunt through the cupboards for teabags and mugs. He'd recognised the ravenous attention in Martin's gaze, just as he recognised it in himself every day. Just as he'd recognised it when he'd caught Martin standing by the sink to watch him last night.

Avatars gained strength by witnessing suffering, whether they liked it or not. Martin hadn't done anything wrong by taking a moment to stop and think yesterday. Or by watching over him as he slept, after he'd asked not to be left alone. 

Even so, it was disorienting to catch Martin feeding on his fear. He almost wanted to complain, to say _'that's not the Martin I know'_ , even though that was yesterday's news. 

It wasn't as if he couldn't help Martin, even now. But offering him the kind of help that he wanted meant following him further down a path that was hurting both of them, at least until he knew what was going on.

Jon stared up at the sky through a thousand eyes, trying to convince himself that it rightfully belonged to the sun and clouds. People wanted to look up and see the moon and stars, weather balloons, satellites, asteroids... These days, he always woke up wanting to bring his god into the world. Throughout the day, he always managed to remind himself why that would be a bad idea.

He stared down at his body, lying heavy and infested on the mattress. Dirt was ingrained beneath its nails, and its teeth were still faintly bloodstained. Once he wore that corpse again, he'd be swayed by the other powers that bound it, including several in particular that he'd never wanted to fall to. 

Yesterday, he'd needed to believe that powering up would be worthwhile when he didn't have the option of stopping. If Georgie knew what he'd done, if she rang him right now and asked why he was going along with all of this, he wouldn't be able to give her a real answer. Hilltop Road house might be a danger, but it was one threat among many. Once it was dealt with, he'd still need to figure out how to live in his own skin. 

Martin carried their drinks over on a tray, which he placed at the foot of the bed. He sat down at the edge of the mattress, in front of Jon, and waited with his hands resting lightly on the blanket.

What was it that Martin had said yesterday...? _You're allowed to be upset_. Perhaps it was time they talked. He could see no other options, besides letting his awareness and identity dissipate into the sky. That was tempting, as a career path, but it wouldn't be very productive.

When he returned to his body, he was enveloped by incoherent panic. Colonised and estranged, he couldn't think beyond an urge to get out again, _get out_ _now now now_... 

Martin took hold of Jon's wrist and rubbed his arm. The warm friction set the webs beneath his skin buzzing with energy. Nestled within his flesh, a choir of worms sang him a sweet and welcoming song, and he shuddered with nausea, but... they were trying their best. They loved him, and he could get used to them again. He shouldn't have slept for so long, and let himself get out of sorts. Lingering outside of his skin had left him out of step with his own heartbeat, cut off from the resurgent power that flowed through his veins. 

Jon blinked his eyes open, and shifted over to sit next to Martin at the edge of the bed. 

"Good morning." Martin offered him a tentative smile. "I hope you fed well."

"Uh." Jon wondered whether he'd misheard 'slept' as 'fed'.

"On everyone except Georgie, at least." Martin's smile turned conspiratorial. "She's never been much use to you, has she?"

Ignoring the stony silence, Martin pulled over the tray and pressed a mug of tea into Jon's hands.

"Drink up. I'll lend you some day clothes, and we'll go out as soon as you're ready," Martin added.

"I, I don't think..." Jon tried to get his voice working again. His hands shook as his tongue caught on cobwebs, but he managed to avoid spilling his tea.

"We can wander through Oxford in our pajamas if you prefer." Martin sounded faintly amused. "Honestly, it makes no difference to me."

Jon took a sip of tea, clearing the cobwebs from his mouth. The sweet and milky brew helped steady his nerves. 

"Before we go anywhere, we need to talk." Jon tried to sound firm.

Martin nodded. "About Hilltop Road house."

"No." Jon took a moment to process the suggested topic. "Well, that too, later, but... right now, about us."

"There is no us. Only you." Martin seemed to be aiming for a reassuring tone.

"No, you're definitely here too." Jon opted for the somewhat desperate tactic of pointing out the obvious.

Martin shook his head, giving him a fond smile. "This is all about you, Jon."

 _He's gotten worse overnight_. Jon's thoughts strayed back to falling into the Eye, feeling more thoroughly complete every time his god accepted him, and waking in a haze of monstrous devotion. He silently corrected himself. _We've both gotten worse overnight._

"I know you're trying to help, and I appreciate it, but I still..." Jon sighed, setting his drink on the floor. No distractions. "We need to talk about how you've been going about this."

Martin nodded, looking wary. 

"I need you to be more upfront with me," Jon told him. "Assuming I do need to work with you on something important. To confront a threat. You should have told me sooner. I would've woken up and - and come back to you more easily today if I'd known what we were dealing with from the start, and chosen what steps to take. Yesterday, I did better with the powers that I picked out for myself, didn't I?"

Martin kept his head down, staring at his own hands, and didn't reply.

"I still need you here," Jon added. "I still don't think I can be by myself with... all of this. All of the powers that be. I can't go back to the way things used to be, even the day before yesterday."

"I - I'm here too," Martin told him quietly. "I'm here now."

"Thank you. If we're in this together, then let's act that way. I know I've made mistakes too, but... Please don't keep so much from me, going forwards. You can trust me more than Lukas, can't you? If we listen to each other, we can do better than this."

"Alright. Whatever you want." Martin spoke almost tonelessly. 

"Thank you." Jon picked up his drink, judging that he'd pressed his point about as far as he could. "Let's, ah. Let's talk about Hilltop Road house, then. What have you found out?"

Martin took a few seconds to piece together a reply. "Uh. That house. It's a break in reality. We can use it to access an emerging power. A new threat. Though we'll have to be careful, to end up where we want to go. I know the way. If we get it right, they won't see us coming."

"An emerging power? Do you mean a new avatar or cult, or an upcoming ritual, or a-an entity?" Jon _knew_ that he'd meant the last of those options, but he needed to carve out space for wishful thinking.

"A new entity. Extinction." Martin finally met his gaze again. "Believe me, it's exactly as bad as it sounds."

"Extinction." Jon tried out the word. It didn't evoke any sudden knowledge, but he could feel the honesty of Martin's claim. "Yes, that does sound rather bad."

"We have to disrupt it before it can pull off a ritual. I, I know how we can fight back. If we fail, Peter will keep working on it. He's got copies of my research, and he's been bringing other allies on board. But I think we stand the best chance."

"What do we need to do?" 

Martin hesitated, glancing around the room. "Do you mind if we discuss the rest later? This place is protected well enough that we shouldn't be attacked, but it's not necessarily completely secure against eavesdropping. Once we reach the house on Hilltop Road, I can set up protections to make sure we won't be interrupted. You can hang on for a few hours, right? I'll show you around when we get there."

"Yes, alright. That's reasonable." Jon finished his tea, and considered the most relevant of his remaining questions. 

"Thank you." Martin relaxed slightly, and made a start on his own drink.

"Do we need to bring any supplies with us, or pick anything up along the way?" Jon checked.

"No, not really. We got through the preparatory work yesterday. The way you are now..." Martin paused to give him an admiring look. "Trust me, you won't need C-4 this time."

A jolt of anticipation caught Jon off guard as he considered the possibilities. If this trip gave him the chance to compel statements from agents of an unprecedented catastrophe... Could he direct the Eye to a fresh menu? Strike a blow for humanity's sake by feeding his god the most damaging secrets in existence?

"I... I think I'm looking forward to it," Jon admitted. 

"Ah, that's good." Martin's face lit up with an optimistic smile. "Why don't you pick out some clothes and get washed? I'll tidy up in here."

"Do you mind if I borrow your phone first, to call the Institute?" Jon asked, glad to be down to the easy questions. "Mine broke yesterday, and Daisy's probably worried by now."

Martin hesitated for several long seconds, his smile frozen in place. "...Sure, of course."

The coffee table had been shifted over to the wall to make space to unfold the bed. As Martin went to retrieve his phone, Jon glanced at the late morning sunlight streaming in through the window.

"Did we sleep through the alarm?" Jon wondered aloud.

"I didn't set one for today. You needed your rest," Martin explained, swiping at the screen.

"Oh. What time is it?"

"About ten thirty." 

Martin sat next to him again and handed over the phone. He'd brought up Daisy's entry in his contact list. They'd all exchanged numbers before the Unknowing, in an attempt to get organised, but the activity log for this contact was empty.

Daisy picked up on the fourth ring. "... Martin?"

"No, it's Jon. I'm borrowing his phone."

"Oh."

"I wanted to let you know that mine broke yesterday morning, so if you tried to call or text in the meantime, that's why I wasn't answering. You can reach us both on this number, until I get a new one." Jon wandered over to the desk, giving Martin space to tidy up.

"You're with Martin."

"Yes, we met up yesterday, and I slept at his place. We'll be doing more field work today, so I'll see you later, or possibly tomorrow, depending on how long it takes. I'll probably stay with him again tonight. How have you been, at the Institute? Are Basira and Melanie around?"

"Yeah. Basira's researching. Melanie's reading. You... slept with Martin?"

"No, I slept over at his place." Jon watched as Martin added the duvet cover to the laundry basket. He didn't seem to be taking any particular interest in their conversation.

"What, you didn't share a bed?"

"Well, we did, but... that's not the point. This is not an interrogation, Daisy, just a heads up that I won't be in until later."

"Because you're spending the day with Martin. After you went almost a year without talking to each other for more than five minutes."

"A year... You know, it still doesn't feel that way." Jon sighed, leaning against the desk. "Three months since I woke up, and few more until August... It's been, uh, almost ten months? This time last year, I was still Nikola's prisoner."

Jon wished he hadn't mentioned that when he saw Martin tense up.

"What happened yesterday? Did you meet up in Walthamstow?" Daisy sounded concerned. Another reminder that a lot can change in a year.

"Yes. Apparently we were meant to meet someone else there too, but that went... badly. It was a long day. But then we made it back to his place, and had a chance to talk."

"So you, what, talked all night? Sharing a bed?"

"I... hang on a second." Jon walked over to the bedroom door, covering the phone with his hand. "Martin, do you mind if I sit through here...?"

"Sure. Pick whatever you want from the wardrobe while you're there." Martin waved him away, still busy sorting out the sofa.

Jon closed the door behind him, and took a seat at the edge of Martin's bed. Either he hadn't kept much from his old apartment, or he'd never been one for clutter, despite the state of his old desk in the Archives. Perhaps he'd tried to break from the past at Peter's prompting.

"Sorry about that." Jon picked up his conversation with Daisy. "To answer your question, things did get slightly out of control yesterday, but not in the way you're thinking. It's, ah, a bit too personal to discuss on the phone. We could talk tomorrow, perhaps?"

"Sure. Just want to know you're alright in the meantime."

"More or less. Things aren't ideal, but... looking back, I'm not sure things have ever truly gone well, even if it felt so at the time. I was oblivious to far more than I ever realised." 

Through his eyes in the other room, Jon saw Martin wince. Sitting here wasn't granting him as much of an illusion of privacy as he'd hoped for, but talking to Daisy was helping anyway, after everything that had happened.

"Things heading in the right direction? Now you're together?"

"I think so. It's better than sitting around worrying about him all day. I mean, I'm still worried, but now we can talk it out, and make plans to face things together, so... yes. We're heading in the right direction." Jon let his fingers dig into the blanket, twisting it into undulating spirals. "I hope things are still improving for you and Basira, too."

"Mm. Look, I don't need to know exactly what you meant about things getting out of control last night. But I get the impression you don't have a lot of relationship experience, so if you'll be spending tonight together too, you could maybe use some advice."

"What?" He could already tell that he wasn't going to like where this was going.

"You need to think about protection, even if you trust him, and even if you think what you're doing doesn't count as 'sleeping together'. You can catch STDs and STIs from stuff like sharing toys and lubricant."

"... No, that's. Not. Anything to do with what happened, either. Daisy. I appreciate your concern, but. No. I already knew, and... That's just... no."

"Ah. You're not there yet?"

"I... That's not... Daisy, please. I'm trying to talk about... the most important person in my life, right now, I think. Stop bringing up sex out of nowhere. It's got nothing to do with anything."

"Huh."

"What?" 

"You're asexual, aren't you?"

Jon rubbed his eyes. "Didn't Basira tell you? I know she heard it from Melanie."

"Never came up."

"Ah. I suppose I'm glad not to have been the subject of too much gossip."

"You know, a lot of people would consider that stuff anyway, with an understanding partner. Emotional intimacy and all."

"I don't see how sticking blunt objects into our orifices would help us feel any closer. In fact, I dare say it would be quite the impediment to meaningful conversation."

"Okay. Nevermind."

"Honestly, even if we _were_ going to fuck, I think protection would be a lost cause at this stage."

"...What does that mean, Jon?"

He shouldn't have brought this up over the phone. But now she sounded alarmed, and she already knew he was a monster, and he didn't expect he'd be able to keep the rest a secret for long...

"I'm chock full of spiders and worms, thanks to him, but they weren't sexually transmitted."

"...Is that a joke?"

"No. I can see why you'd think so, but..."

"Jon. If you need help - "

"No, I'm fine. They're behaving themselves."

"...Jon, seriously..."

"Oh, before I forget, you can tell Basira that she doesn't need to worry about the Dark ritual. The Extinguished Sun. I think we've already taken care of that one."

"How...?"

"We consumed the dark sun."

"...Fuck's sake, Jon..."

"Again, not a joke."

"That's worse."

"Again, I can see why you'd think so... Look, I should go soon. We're planning to visit Oxford today, to investigate Hilltop Road house, a site of supernatural activity. Depending on how it goes, we might need to put the phone on silent, and we might slip into another realm of existence, so don't worry if you can't get through. I'll see you again soon, and hopefully this will all make a bit more sense when we've got time for the full story."

The silent phone radiated disapproval as he hung up. 

Everything in the wardrobe was clearly a few sizes too large, so he picked up the first t-shirt, trousers, and belt that he could find.

When he stepped back into the main room, Martin was waiting by the window in the spot he'd claimed five minutes ago, his face still bright red as he stared out at the street.

"Heard all that, did you?" Jon asked as he returned his phone.

"Sorry." Martin's voice came out sounding slightly strangled. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. My hearing's just like that, now, apparently."

"These things happen," Jon told him. "I could see you from the other room, though I couldn't hear you that well."

"Ah. Okay..." Martin relaxed fractionally once the matter had been brushed off. 

"Anyway, I should shower. I must still look something of a mess."

"Yeah." Martin studied his face. "I'd think you hadn't slept for days, if I didn't know how much worse you looked last night."

Jon hesitated, sensing that it'd be awkward to walk off on that note. "Well, I won't risk falling back asleep anytime soon, so let's see how much good soap and water can do."

Martin nodded, looking quite preoccupied.

Jon reached over to brush his fingers against the back of Martin's hand, catching the vibrations of his flustered melody. Martin blinked and caught hold of his hand, letting their fingers entwine.

"Sorry," Jon added. "I shouldn't have talked about you behind your back when I knew you could hear me. I just got carried away."

"Ah, yeah, well, it was all... fair..."

"None of this has been fair to you." Jon shifted closer, letting their arms press together. "Still. We can aim higher."

Martin released a slow breath, quieter and steadier than a sigh. "Right... Let's aim high."

Jon gave his hand one last squeeze, then let go. He headed for the bathroom, watching from above as Martin turned back to the window and let his gaze drift to the skyline.

The shower was set into the corner of the room, behind a curtain rather than a door. Hot water twisted through the air, creating curling eddies of steam until it spiralled down the drain. He watched, entranced, running his fingers along the edge of the curtain. 

"Remember to actually wash," Martin told him, voice raised on the other side of the door.

Jon blinked and wondered how long he'd been standing there. He stepped into the spray, and realised from the cling of wet fabric that he was still in his pajamas. He stepped out again to peel them off, left them in a pile on the floor, and stepped back into the shower. He tried to pull the curtain closed, but it had been torn to shreds. Had he done that? He couldn't quite remember...

Hot water plastered his hair to his face. He found the shampoo and the shower gel, and mixed them together in his hands so that he'd be finished twice as fast. The soap stung the eyes embedded in his hands. Bubbles slipped through his fingers as the water washed the mixture away. 

He turned up the water pressure. Maybe that would be enough by itself. 

The warmth of Martin's hand had been more comfortable than the water. The pressure of his arm around his shoulders. How much more contact would feel good in the same way, before it became too much? Relaxing, steadying, centering. Anchoring. Or truly too much. His mind's eye hovered at the edges of things he absolutely didn't want to imagine, choking his breath. It was all Daisy's fault.

Water pressed in on all sides, heavy and stagnant. No light filtered through to this depth. His breath festered in his lungs. Suspended in still water, he sighed until his lungs were empty. How had he ended up in Choke?

This time, he knew better than to panic.

The webs woven through his arm pulled it into stretching out before him. Blanketed by suffocating darkness, he knocked on a familiar wooden door. It swung open at his touch, and he stepped out, letting his limbs brush against the decades-old blood stains in a gesture of remembrance for a teenager whose name he'd long since forgotten.

His bare feet landed on the tiles of Martin's bathroom. Dripping muddy water, he turned off the shower. Perhaps he ought to make another attempt at washing, but not yet. At the sink, he splashed cold water on his face and hair, rinsing off some of the cobwebs and mud. Then he dragged on the borrowed outfit, doing the belt up tightly enough to keep the baggy trousers on his hips, and stumbled back into the main room with his hair still dripping on his t-shirt.

"What happened?" Martin asked, stepping towards him.

"I got lost." 

Jon closed the distance and leaned against Martin's side, sighing in relief as an arm wrapped around his waist. 

"Uh. Okay. Maybe this'll do, for now? We're bound to get grimy, on this field trip, so I guess it doesn't matter."

"Whatever you say. Please just... don't go anywhere, for now."

"Alright. You found your way back, didn't you? And now you're here. We don't have to go anywhere just yet."

Martin held him close as he gradually relaxed again. When his hair was almost dry, Martin finger-combed it out of his face, then used his pajama sleeve to rub away more of the grime. 

"I thought you said this was good enough," Jon reminded him.

"Yeah, I guess so." Martin stepped back and looked him over, clearly struggling to keep a straight face.

"I'm fine." Jon folded his arms, trying not to reach for him again. Clinging constantly would be ridiculous.

"Right, right." Martin hesitated, glancing at the bathroom door. "I should really freshen up too. Will you be okay on your own for ten minutes?"

"Yes, of course." Jon had meant to sound respectably irritated by that sort of question, but the words fell lifelessly flat.

"Why don't you pick out a book to read?" Martin suggested, nudging him towards the bookshelf with a hand on his shoulder. 

"Ah, okay. Why not?" 

Jon scanned the shelves for interesting titles. They seemed to be mostly unfamiliar poetry paperbacks, alongside a handful of supernatural reference books that he'd already read, and the files and folders containing Martin's paperwork. He pulled out a volume of poetry at random, and took a seat at the desk.

"Ten minutes," Martin repeated, before leaving to grab some clothes and take his turn in the shower. He cast a veil of impenetrable darkness over the bathroom after stepping inside. A fine idea, all things considered.

The book turned out to be full of Polish poetry with no English translations. He'd have been able to read it anyway, if it'd been a statement... Sulking slightly over the limits of his magic powers, he placed it back on the shelf.

His gaze strayed to the files lying on the desk. Martin had invited him over to share his research, hadn't he?

Jon opened the closest file. The topmost sheet of paper was half filled with circled case numbers and scribbled out notes. The only legible text left was a poem that Martin had jotted down in the margin, slanted at a slight angle to fit the space.

_I'm busy_

_I don’t have time to think_  
_I can only think_  
_I don’t have time to talk_  
_I can only wait_

 _Sleeping at the base of an altar_  
_I won’t climb_  
_I can’t leave_  
_Craft a knife from paper_  
_Repurposing old news_

 _A thought a day_  
_From my calendar_  
_Save each breath_  
_Until it counts_

 _Piece together the truth_  
_With thread pulled taught_  
_Too strong to snap_

 _I’ll wait for the result_  
_Of my own efforts_  
_Fill my days_  
_With the sound of my own voice_  
_Or the memory of yours_  
_All other sounds_  
_Swallowed by fog_

 _I won’t falter_  
_Bound by a purpose_  
_I’ll never forsake_

 _Nerves of steel_  
_Heart of lead_  
_Carrying a torch_  
_That sheds no light_

 _So why do I feel_  
_As if I’m waiting_  
_For you to outshine me?_  
_Fight my battles_  
_With monstrous ease_  
_And save me from_  
_Unspoken promises?_

 _I’ll tighten the noose_  
_Around my own neck_  
_Until your survival is assured_  
_By your hands or mine_

 _Once I’ve ruled out my doubts_  
_I won’t hold back_  
_I won’t wait_

 _Behind every thought_  
_Between every breath_  
_I’m waiting for you_  
_~~Please~~_

Jon stared at the poem until Martin stepped back into the room.

"Find something interesting?" Martin asked, heading over to join him. 

"I thought I'd take a look at the research you mentioned. I hope you don't mind." Jon kept the file open.

"I guess not? But none of that's any use." 

Martin's smile carried a hint of confusion. He'd selected a pale blue shirt and black trousers for the day, both of which looked quite expensive. He'd already dried his hair, and he was wearing the same familiar aftershave as yesterday.

"I saw your poem, in here," Jon told him. "It's very heartfelt."

Martin glanced down at the page. "Thanks for saying that, but it's nothing special. I wasn't really trying with that one, just venting. Looking back, I hate to think I was ever so conflicted."

"Oh. Do you mind if I keep it?" Jon asked, fiddling with the edge of the paper. "If you don't want it for your own collection."

"Could you not?" Martin requested firmly, but without irritation. "I'd rather you listened to what I'm saying now, not what I was moaning about the other day."

"Oh. Of course." Jon closed the file. His fingertips lingered on the cover.

"Your shoes are by the door. We'll leave once you're ready, alright?" 

"Yes. We might as well."

Jon had to roll his trousers up by quite a few inches to find his feet. Martin fetched a few more safety pins and a pair of socks. 

"I should swing by the Institute for a change of clothes," Jon suggested as he laced up his shoes. "If we can spare the time."

"You're fine as you are," Martin told him. "Your outfit really doesn't matter, where we're going."

"Then why are you all dressed up?" Jon grumbled, rising to his feet.

"For your benefit," Martin told him, perfectly matter of fact.

"...Oh." Jon didn't let himself voice the first reply that came to mind. _Tim should have seen you this way_.

"What's wrong?" Martin asked, placing a hand on his arm. His touch thrummed with affectionate concern.

Jon loosely wrapped his arms around Martin's neck. "I meant what I said yesterday. I won't accept your plan unless you can get through it safely." 

The webs beneath Martin's skin vibrated with a burst of distress, and then fell silent, as if he was holding them taut. A cautious smile flickered across his face, but there was no melody to back it up. "Thanks. Let's see what we can do."

"Martin..." Jon let his frustration bleed into his voice. 

"I'm trying to protect the world. I won't make any promises that I might not be able to keep." Martin kept his tone reasonable and light, but his insides still weren't singing.

"You'd better bear in mind that I'll keep mine," Jon warned him. "No matter where we end up or what happens when we get there, I am not going home without you."

"Jon..." Martin's voice was too low and quiet to interpret.

"I'm not losing you," Jon insisted. "I wouldn't be able to come back from that, even if I wanted to."

Martin closed the distance between them, pulling him into a proper hug. He slightly loosened his grip on his webs, letting tremors of concern and trepidation pass through his skin. 

"I won't send you home without me." Martin sounded tired and near toneless, but honest all the same.

Jon nodded against his chest. "Thank you. That's all I need to know."

They swayed slightly as they settled into the embrace. Jon almost asked whether they could put everything off until tomorrow and spend the day resting together, getting used to each other again, but an echo from yesterday surfaced in his thoughts. They couldn't get through this by running from anything.

"You want to get on with this, don't you?" Martin drew back, sensing the change in his mood.

"Yes. We'll have one less thing to worry about afterwards, if all goes well." Jon shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide his unease at the sudden lack of contact. "You don't mind if I come back here with you, do you? I may have been making assumptions earlier."

Martin's smile was clearly intended as an answer in itself.

"Fine, make me feel silly for asking," Jon muttered. "You didn't want to move into the tunnels, so... I suppose I'll have to stay here, won't I? At least until we've figured this out. I don't like you living in Lukas property, though."

"Remember your lighter," Martin told him, offering no other comments or corrections.

"Right..." 

The waxy clothes that he'd left by the wall had cooled and solidified into a lump. Jon picked at it ineffectually with his fingernails, stifling a frustrated noise, before extending his claws for expediency's sake. Shredding the fabric worked well enough. He fished out his lighter, along with his wallet and keys. They were all slightly greasy, but the contents of his wallet had been protected by the leather. The Oyster card that he'd left loose had been warped beyond use.

Five tape recorders were nestled within the remains of his clothes. They weren't recording right now. Out of curiosity, he pried one open and ate the tape in a few quick bites, crunching up the plastic between his teeth. 

The tape contained an hour's worth of their conversation from last night, overlaid by heavy static. He could recall it well enough without the reminder. Still, it was a decent snack, and he'd kept it out of their enemies' hands. He collected the other four cassettes and stuck them in his pockets before going to join Martin by the front door.

Martin reached out for his hand. An odd look had found its way into his eyes. 

Jon took his hand without a word. Soft fingertips brushed past each other on their way to a firm hold.

"Let's get lost on the way there," Martin suggested, a warm smile playing on his lips.

"Fine by me." Jon leaned closer as Martin opened the door onto pitch darkness. They stepped through together. 

Falling took his breath away. Adrenaline buzzed in his veins. Martin gripped his hand as the air rushed past. Indecipherable noises flickered through his awareness. While they were falling at this speed, nothing could catch them.

Jon catalogued the sound of their clothes whipping through the air. His attention lingered on the desperate warmth of their one point of contact, and the inability to properly draw breath. Then he set his webs shivering with a message, and persuaded his worms to sing along. _I want to see you again_.

Between one moment and the next, they broke through into the brightness of a vast blue sky. The air stung his eyes too badly to grant him a clear view, but he could see Martin beside him, across the bridge of their outstretched arms. 

The endless sky stretched out all around them, unchanging no matter how far they fell. His pounding heart started to settle. He'd never been skydiving before, and he probably wouldn't have enjoyed it until now. With no risk of a bad landing, no strict time limit, and no sense of isolation, there was an undeniable peace at the heart of exhilaration. 

He tried to _know_ the full expanse of the sky, in case he could find any of the victims that Mike Crew and the Fairchilds had flung here, but it was no use. If any of them were still alive, they were hopelessly beyond reach. He could only hope that they'd arrived at a sense of peace too. The skydiving instructor, Robert Kelly, might have managed it. Perhaps he was a Fairchild now.

He'd thoroughly lost track of time when he felt his webs resonate with a message from Martin. He closed his eyes.

They fell through cobwebs, layer after layer, tearing through the first ones almost without feeling them. The thick layers of sticky silk eventually started to slow their fall, clinging and stretching before breaking. 

For a few weightless moments, they fell freely again, before landing with a great splash in a body of cold water. Jon managed to keep hold of Martin's hand as they sank beneath the surface. The impact had hurt, but not as much as the constant background pain of his new physiology, so it was fairly easy to shrug off. 

Once they'd kicked their way to the surface, Jon had a look at their surroundings. They'd landed close to the edge of a small lake. Martin pulled him through the water until they reached the grassy bank and hauled themselves up onto the path. Beyond the nearby trees, on the other side of an iron fence, he could see the start of a residential street. The late afternoon sun was partially obscured by clouds, but it was a hot day nonetheless. 

Jon laughed under his breath as he absorbed the sight of Martin's thoroughly dishevelled state, and reached over to help wring the water out of his hair.

"What?" Martin may have been trying to sound annoyed, but he was grinning too. No doubt the adrenaline had gotten to him.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one looking frightful," Jon admitted.

"Hey. You know I got all dressed up for this," Martin reminded him, smoothing out their clothes. 

"Yes, and I was impressed. You looked very smart and professional. But I did feel out of place beside you," Jon told him, picking off a few wet clumps of cobweb. "Besides, you're the one who chose the route."

"Yeah, well, it was worth it. But I hope it doesn't take long to dry off."

"Shouldn't do, in this heat." Jon glanced at the nearby street again, but he still had no idea of their location. "Where next?"

"Oh, this way. We're still a couple of miles from Hilltop Road, so we're best off taking another shortcut." Martin started leading him towards the fence.

"Hm, maybe we should..." Jon reached for his pocket before remembering that his phone was gone. He couldn't look up the map. "Hang on. Did your phone survive the swim?"

"Oh... I, uh, I didn't think of that. Let me check." Martin took out his phone and pressed the power button.

Jon stared in confusion. Martin's words had rung false. What was there to lie about? Some kind of embarrassing assumption that he wouldn't admit to in hindsight? Had he expected his phone to grow gills?

"Oops, no, it's dead." Martin threw the phone over his shoulder, and it splashed into the lake. "Nevermind. I know the way anyway, and it's, uh, not the first time I've lost a phone to the perils of the job."

Jon kept staring until Martin grabbed his hand and dragged him the rest of the way to the fence. That last part had all been true... 

Once they'd climbed over the obstacle, they headed in the direction of a community centre with a shuttered entrance. 

"We'll get out of view of the street, then find a door," Martin explained.

When they rounded the corner of the building, they found a familiar yellow door set into the wall. Jon glared at Martin before he could think better of it.

"I didn't mean that one," Martin hissed. He didn't look pleased either.

The door creaked open, offering them a glimpse of an unending corridor that twisted in impossible directions. Helen stepped out and leaned on the doorframe. "Are you having fun, Archivist?"

"I, uh. I can't say I expected to see you here. Was there something you wanted...?" Jon made a strained effort to keep his tone polite. He'd have been happier to see her yesterday, if she'd cared to show up while he was incapacitated.

"I wanted to wish you good luck." Helen tapped her fingernails against the wall, gouging out small holes in the bricks.

"Oh. Thank you." Jon edged closer to Martin. The Distortion's sporadic displays of goodwill were in some ways more unnerving than hostility, even though he'd ended up relying on it all too often. It lied, it was the embodiment of lies, and yet she claimed she'd never lied to him.

"Would you like me to pass a message to your Institute?" Helen offered him a twisted smile.

Jon was about to say no when he realised how helpful that would be. "...Yes, actually. If you don't mind, would you let Daisy and the others know that we've broken Martin's phone? We won't be in touch for a while, and they shouldn't worry if they can't reach us in the meantime." 

Helen nodded, staring at him quietly while her hands chipped away at the brickwork.

"Right, well, that's all, so we'll be going, if you don't mind," Martin told her, tugging on Jon's arm.

Jon didn't move. He didn't particularly want to turn his back on the Distortion while it was here.

"Don't worry. I won't get in your way," Helen promised, as her gaze shifted to Martin. "I wanted to see him again. You understand, don't you?"

Martin tensed up, and hissed out an absolutely furious reply. "You're already getting in the way."

Jon's gaze flickered between the two of them in confusion until a faint noise caught his attention. He stepped closer to the open door. The sound of distant sobbing drifted through the corridor.

"Who's in there?" Jon demanded. 

Helen barred his way when he tried to step through the door. Lights flickered from inside the hallway, and the distant sound cut out.

"Whoever is in there, let them go," Jon growled, crowding into Helen's space until Martin pulled him back.

"No." Helen didn't sound as amused as Michael had, when he'd tried to save her from her predecessor, but she did sound every bit as affronted.

Jon hissed and tried to pull free of Martin's grip, his own claws itching against his palms. 

Helen sighed and stepped back over the threshold, closing the door behind her. 

The yellow door no longer existed. It had never existed in the first place.

When Martin relaxed his grip, Jon stood frozen in place, glaring uselessly at the wall as his blood pounded in his ears.

"...I want to kill her," Jon announced. Better to say it aloud than to attack the wall.

"You're not killing Helen." Martin's grip tightened again. "We have somewhere to be, and we'll never get there if you pick a fight you can't win. There will always be a Distortion, whether it's Michael or Helen or whoever it takes next. If you destroy one face, it will wear another, and once you've lost its favour, it will kill you, slowly and surely."

Jon shook his head, choking out words through gritted teeth. "Someone needed me."

"No, they needed better luck. They didn't need _you_ , because you were never going to change her mind," Martin insisted.

Jon shivered, and tried to twist round. "I... I can't... Please let go."

Martin released him, letting him spin round to lean his head against his chest and tangle his fingers in his damp shirt.

"I can't understand, if it's still her... She's been through it herself. How she could inflict it on anyone else..." Jon leaned heavily against Martin, shaking with unspent adrenaline.

Martin wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and took a softer tone. "She won't starve herself for you. She likes you, but she doesn't like you _that_ much."

"Not for me, for humanity. For what she was," Jon protested quietly.

"Yeah, it's a shame. She's not human anymore, and neither are we." Martin placed his hands on Jon's shoulders and gently pushed him back until he met his gaze. "I've seen your dreams. You haven't been starving yourself either."

Jon tensed up and pulled free of his hold. He almost told him that _'nightmares aren't on the same level as murder'_ , but held back upon realising that he didn't want to hear anything more from Martin on what the nightmares were in their own right. Not after what he'd said about Georgie. As if he'd be anything but grateful that he couldn't terrorise her, unlike all of the others...

Trying to figure out what to do with himself, he crossed his arms and stared at the ground. He couldn't keep his face from heating up with an unpleasant tangle of emotions, sludgy and prickling.

"We're here to save the world," Martin reminded him. "To save as many people as possible."

Jon nodded, unable to come up with a reply that wouldn't worsen the argument. 

Martin stepped closer. "You don't need to be ashamed for being what you are. It's not as if you ever had much of a choice. But now that we've got power, we've got options. We're going to fix things, to the extent that they can realistically be fixed."

Jon bit his lip, staring at Martin's arms. "To what extent is that?"

"You'll find out soon. If you're still with me? I know it's dangerous, but - "

"Yes, I'm with you. Of course." Jon glanced up at Martin's concerned smile, then let his gaze wander across the side of the building. "You don't need to worry so much. I won't leave you on your own with all of this."

"Thank you. Only a couple of miles to go. Let's see about finding that shortcut." 

Martin waited until Jon nodded, then moved away to explore the building.

Jon trailed after him, a hundred thoughts buzzing through his mind. If he could pin them down and lay them all out in a row, then he could figure out the words to say. If only he had a tape recorder... He checked his pockets, and found one nestled among the cassettes. But Martin was waiting by a door with a boarded up window, and that was more immediately important.

When Jon reached his side, Martin opened the door to reveal a steel corridor stretching off into the distance. The smell of blood drifted through the air, equal parts unnerving and invigorating. They stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind them. 

"You don't mind the Flesh, do you?" Martin checked. 

"No, it's fine. Hold on a minute, though."

Jon knelt to untie his shoelaces. He wasn't trudging any further in damp socks. Once he'd peeled everything off his feet, he stuffed the socks into the empty shoes, and carried them both in one hand as he set off down the corridor.

Martin trailed a few paces behind, until Jon paused to let him catch up.

"I'm not that upset with you," Jon muttered.

"Right." Martin offered him a faint smile, and kept pace with him from that point on.

After a few hundred meters, the corridor branched off to the left and right. Martin led him down the route on the left, which continued in much the same vein, with the addition of a rail running along the ceiling. As they walked, meat hooks travelled along the rail in the opposite direction. Most were empty, but some carried the carcasses of animals in various states of butchery. 

Jon found himself staring after a cow carcass that had just passed them by. The head and limbs had been chopped off, and the chest split open, exposing the ribs and the severed ends of several other bones.

"What's on your mind?" Martin asked.

"Oh, I... I was just thinking that I've never tried bone marrow. I've heard of it, as a delicacy, but I suppose I haven't been to the right restaurants... Uh, nevermind, I shouldn't have gotten distracted." 

"No, that's... We could try it now?" 

Martin jogged after the carcass without waiting for an answer. He pulled it free of the hook, and managed to maneuver it onto the floor without getting blood on his clothes.

While Jon backtracked to join him, Martin plucked a couple of ribs from the meat. A heat haze shimmered over his hands, leaving the bones charred and cracked.

"Are you sure you're okay with drawing on Desolation?" Jon asked, stopping beside him. "I wouldn't have mentioned anything if - "

"It's fine. I've had practice." Martin smiled and offered him one of the cooked ribs.

"Alright, but you don't need to pull that trick again." Jon set his shoes down on the floor and accepted the snack, but he couldn't bring himself to try it immediately. He'd lost his appetite while considering how familiar Martin must have become, over the last year or so, with the devastating fear of losing everything and everyone he'd ever loved.

Martin cracked open the rib he'd kept hold of, scooped out the liquid marrow, and licked it from his fingers. "Mm, it's good. Go ahead and try it while it's hot."

Jon followed his example. He wasn't quite sure what he'd expected, but the marrow tasted rich and fatty. He broke off a few more pieces of the outer bone, and licked up more of the goop, letting it spread over his tongue. "You're right, it's good. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Martin sounded quite satisfied, and his smile was the most genuine it had been for a while now.

Jon spent a few seconds gazing at him, trying to memorise that expression. "...I'm sorry."

"For what?" Martin asked, blinking in surprise.

Jon sighed, realising he'd placed himself in a position where he'd have to elaborate without making things worse.

"You've always done this," Jon explained. "Tried to help with small comforts, no matter what else was going on. Whenever any of us acted as if tea and biscuits wouldn't solve anything, I - I think we were blaming you for problems that weren't your fault. It wasn't up to you to fix everything. And in any case, you came up with more than your share of solutions too. We weren't coping any better by getting impatient. It wouldn't have taken much effort to show you more appreciation."

"Hey, it's not as if this is the first time you've ever thanked me sincerely," Martin reminded him. 

"I still wish I'd done better," Jon told him quietly. "You deserved better."

"We all deserved better, didn't we?" Martin dropped the leftover pieces of bone onto the carcass. His smile had turned pained again, though he was hiding it well. 

Jon half wished he hadn't said anything to ruin the moment, even though he'd owed him the apology. He added his leftovers to the pile and wiped his hands on his damp clothes, glancing down the corridor. He hadn't minded the endless slaughterhouse to begin with, but it was starting to feel like an inauspicious place for a heart to heart.

"Ready to move on?" Martin checked.

"Yes. No. I - I'm sorry." Jon reached over to take hold of his hands, letting their melodies combine again. Grief and affection buzzed between them, vibrating along web and bone. They shouldn't have gone so long without touching. A gap of even a few minutes was enough to make things more difficult than they needed to be.

"Take your time," Martin murmured, rubbing a thumb over his skin.

Jon sighed and leaned in closer. "I've spent the last few years apologizing for my mistakes, and it hasn't been enough to cover everything, let alone make up for anything..."

"You were trying to protect us," Martin reminded him firmly. "And you weren't the only one to make mistakes." 

Jon let his forehead fall against his chest, an inarticulate noise vibrating in the back of his throat.

Martin hummed in thought. When he spoke again, his words resonated with quiet concern and suppressed fear. 

"Would it help if I told you that I forgive you? I never really held anything against you. I only hoped that things would improve, if we put in the effort. But if it helps, I can pretend I was waiting for an apology, so that we can say it's done its job and settled everything."

"Why...?" Jon choked back his question, as it most likely wasn't what he'd want to hear. _Why are you so much better to me than I deserve?_

Martin's voice grew softer and more fearful. "Honestly, I'd rather you acknowledged the things we've gotten right. I tried to carve out nice moments, so please tell me you enjoyed them."

"Yes. I did. The sandwiches, and the tea, and the Christmas cards, and the birthday cards that you'd obviously chosen and gotten the whole team to sign, and those absurd motivational posters, and the times we went out for lunch, even if my mind was half elsewhere." Jon looked up to meet his gaze and drive the point home. "I missed you for a reason. For lots of reasons."

"Thanks," Martin whispered, his eyes widening slightly. 

"Once this is over, even if everything is still a mess, we'll find things to enjoy anyway," Jon told him. "New books, and more meals out, and day trips, or possibly longer ones, if we can risk them without getting sick or being attacked. You told me you'd never travelled much, when I came back from America. I swear you weren't missing out on much that time. We can arrange actual holidays, with no kidnappings on the itinerary."

Martin's vibrations lessened as if he was trying to hold his webs taut, but not managing it as thoroughly as earlier. Fearful love bled through his fingers.

"Please say something." Jon held on tightly. "Tell me what you'd like to do tomorrow."

"Sorry. I'm scared to think that far ahead," Martin admitted quietly.

Jon stared into his eyes, searching for a more effective form of reassurance against the secrets he hadn't yet divulged. "... You said you wouldn't let me die, and you wouldn't send me home without you. Remember?"

"I remember." Martin summoned a faint smile.

"Then I know we'll get through this. I believe you." Jon reached up to pat his shoulder. No matter how awkward it felt to be the one offering reassurance, it was the absolute least he could do.

Martin sighed and pulled him into a hug. The warmth was welcome, but the tremors set Jon's teeth on edge, and he could only bring himself to put up with it for a couple of minutes before he started pulling Martin down the corridor by the hand.

"This can't go on," Jon told him. "Once we reach the house, you're going to tell me everything, and the Extinction is going to answer to me for every second of worry that it's caused you. Don't leave my side, understand? I won't let anything go wrong."

"...Thanks." Martin's voice carried a definite note of relief, alongside the fear.

They stormed through several more twists and turns of the abattoir. Jon had to slow down to let Martin take the lead at each intersection, though the scent of blood in the air kept him agitated. 

"Wouldn't falling at terminal velocity be faster?" Jon muttered.

"We'd overshoot it," Martin told him. "Seriously, it's not far now. Just round here... Ah, I think we can use this one."

They stopped at a door with a metal grille. Rhythmic slicing and thumping could be heard from the other side. 

When Martin turned the handle, the door opened onto a car park with a parched field on the left, and a cluster of trees and houses on the right. After they'd stepped through, Jon turned to see that they'd exited from the back door of a local sports club. 

"You don't think we'll attract attention, appearing here?" Jon checked. There were a few people milling around the far end of the car park, but none were looking their way. He noticed a CCTV camera on the wall, and swiftly scrambled the footage.

"Hopefully not. Even if someone saw us, why would they be suspicious? There's always been a door here." 

Martin smiled and pulled him out of the shade, onto the hot tarmac. The heat was a mild surprise. Jon looked down at his bare feet.

"Did you forget your shoes?" Martin asked, stifling a sigh.

"It doesn't matter. I'm not going back." Jon wriggled his toes, and stared up at the sky. "I think I'm better off leaving more of my eyes uncovered."

"Okay, nevermind. This way..." 

When they reached the street, the house across the road was familiar from the photographs included in several statement files. There was nothing overtly menacing about the exterior, but the sight made the hair at the back of his neck stand on end.

They approached quietly. The last time he'd researched the place, it had been unoccupied, after passing through the hands of two families in the years since its construction. Things might have changed in the meantime.

When Jon rang the bell, it sparked and fell off the wall. The door handle melted at his touch, but he was fairly sure that wasn't his fault. Effectively unlocked, the door swung open on its hinges. 

Ripples of heat and malice greeted them as they stepped inside. Fresh cobwebs lined the walls. A baleful presence observed their every step.

"Quite an atmosphere, isn't it?" Martin whispered, squeezing his hand.

"A real home away from home," Jon agreed. 

"Head for the basement," Martin advised him. 

The cupboard under the stairs had been barricaded behind every piece of furniture in the house; a formless tangle of white dust covers and cracked wood took up most of the main room.

"Could I borrow your lighter?" Martin asked.

"Of course." Jon fished it out and handed it over, letting their fingers brush together. "Did you enjoy burning statements?"

"Yeah." Martin grinned as he flicked the lighter open, rubbing a finger over the web pattern engraved on the side.

The furniture caught fire extremely easily. Dust covers whipped through the air in their death throes. Flames licked up the walls, scorching the wallpaper, burning up the nearest cobwebs, and filling the air with smoke. Wherever the wallpaper peeled away, it left a pitch black void in its wake. 

When the floor gave way, the entire pile of burning furniture fell into the void.

"Stay close," Martin warned him.

As the flames continued eating away at the room, Martin stepped out over the darkness. His foot stopped slightly below floor level. He continued walking across the widening expanse of nothingness, placing one foot directly in front of the other with each step.

Keeping hold of his hand, Jon followed in his footsteps. A thin strand of web met the soles of his feet. He crossed the silken tightrope without issue, refusing to flinch as it pulled out a few eyelashes. He could keep up. He was a spider, after all. 

Martin kicked in the remains of the door to the basement. They dashed down the stairs, spreading the fire along the way. 

The floor had already been overtaken by the darkest of shadows when they reached the lowest level of the house. Martin set off along the next thread, and Jon followed without hesitation. Their path led down into the darkness at a steep angle. Unlike the route they'd travelled earlier, on the way out from Martin's apartment, there was no hint of distant sound or movement here, only a suffocating heat that proved as stifling as the accompanying absence of light.

They descended in a silence that Jon didn't quite dare to break. Occasionally, the thread beneath their feet branched out, forming the junctions of a great web, and Martin seemed quite focused on keeping track of the route. 

They'd left the last junction far behind when their feet met solid ground again. Martin held the lighter to the web they'd walked. A brief glimmer of flame flickered along the thread as it burned away.

Martin held the lighter up to marginally illuminate their surroundings. They were in an empty cellar. The floor was carpeted in a thick layer of unbroken dust. A nearby staircase looked as if it led up to the ground floor. Was this still 105 Hilltop Road?

"I suppose we won't be leaving the way we arrived," Jon guessed, keen to break the silence. 

"We won't need to," Martin assured him, setting off toward the far side of the basement.

"So when you said you could set up protections at the house, you meant by burning it down around us?" Jon asked, hoping to understand his reasoning.

"Whatever works." Martin shrugged. "Nobody can eavesdrop on us now, except this realm's inhabitants. I'm hoping they haven't noticed us yet."

"And what if they have?" Jon kicked up dust as they crossed the floor.

"Then we're short on time," Martin answered tersely. 

As they approached the wall opposite the entrance, a narrow set of stairs emerged from the gloom. They climbed up to a small door that proved to be jammed shut. Jon sliced through the warped and stained wood until they could shove the remaining pieces out of the frame without making a racket. 

They stepped out into a garden full of dead grass and yellowish smog. The sky was a thick haze of heat and pollution, offering them no glimpse of the sun. A small crater lay in the middle of the lawn, just where a tree might once have stood. Martin pulled him in that direction.

Jon held his breath to avoid inviting the rancid humidity into his lungs. He glanced over his shoulder at the house, which was mostly intact, besides the shattered windows and missing roof tiles. A dark shape lay shrouded by fog near the corner of the building. He knew he didn't want to see it clearly. He also knew he'd take a look as soon as he had the chance.

Martin led him to the crater and nudged him into sitting next to him at the lowest point, with their heads below ground level. Jon squinted up at the sky, refusing to let himself complain about the restricted view. 

"Okay, so. Extinction," Martin announced, drawing back Jon's attention. "This realm is emerging as a fifteenth power, feeding on people's modern day fears. It used to be part of the End, mostly, back in the days when people saw humanity's death as the end of everything. The rapture, the end of days. But now that we can see beyond our own existence as a species, and fear the changes that we've set in motion... This is the manifestation of humanity's terror that we'll wipe ourselves out, and leave behind a ruined world, marked by our absence.

Even without us, this world could host... other things. Creatures capable of fearing their own extinction in turn. So it's building towards a ritual in a way that Death never would, knowing that it will still have a population to feed on afterwards. But humanity wouldn't survive. Any other ritual would create a thoroughly unpleasant world. The Unknowing, or the Great Twisting, or any of the others, they're all bad news. But this is the only one that would completely and utterly wipe us out. Are you with me so far?"

"...Yes. I think so," Jon told him. "This is a - a lot to take in, but it makes sense. Especially when the evidence is so immersively presented."

"Right. So, part of the reason it's rapidly gaining strength is the way it's stealing territory from the other powers too," Martin explained. "People are afraid that modern weapons will slaughter us all in one fell swoop, leaving behind a nuclear wasteland too corrupted to support anything but roaches and other vermin. Some people are succumbing to a desolate outlook, deciding that if we're bound to destroy ourselves, then we have it coming. Others are isolating themselves, afraid of building a family when they think their children wouldn't have a future. 

The masses are struggling to reconcile an information age, when everything is observed and recorded, with the perception that nobody's doing anything to fix the looming catastrophes that hit the news every day. The powers that manipulate their lives are watching their struggles, and refusing to help, choosing instead to weave a global web of propaganda, litigation and financial disaster that chokes the chances of grassroots change. It leaves people feeling helplessly buried by their problems, too suffocated by debt to save themselves, let alone everyone else. They fear they're losing their minds, unable to map out a sane way to live when fitting in with society means perpetuating its terminal problems, and rejecting it means being branded a crazy outcast. They doubt their judgement because every available option seems to cause more environmental and social harm than it fixes, and every week a new exposé tears to shreds the false solutions that they'd dared to believe in. 

They look at their leaders and don't see them as human. They look at uncanny objects, robots, machine-learning algorithms and AI devices, and see them as the future of humanity, no matter how thoroughly they've failed to live up to that promise so far. They want to become something less than human, and they call it the next step in evolution, criticising their peers for fearing the unknown. They look to space for an escape, and the more they learn about the unfathomably vast distances between stars, the more thoroughly they fear the uncaring universe. They know that if the Earth falls silent, the rest of existence won't even notice. Someday the Sun will die, and the remaining stars will drift apart as they burn themselves up, and the unmitigated darkness between galaxies will eventually be all that's left of reality. 

Against that backdrop, humans are just another animal, living with no more purpose than the cattle we herd while we work towards snuffing ourselves out. If the apocalypse leaves any survivors, they'll turn on each other for resources, hunting down their former neighbors because they're more use as meat than as competition. Or at least, that's the fear emerging from certain circles. And when a supernatural entity emerges, it feeds by manifesting our worst fears.

The Extinction has been stealing territory from the other powers, but we can strike back and restrict its actions. If you trigger the Watcher's Crown here, in the Extinction's realm, you'll subsume it within Beholding and halt its emergence as an independent force. The human world won't be dragged in, so long as the ritual doesn't take place there. You're familiar enough with all fourteen established powers to reclaim the ground they've lost. You can annexe everything here into Beholding, and bind it from within, protecting humanity from two threats at once. Nobody else will ever be able to wear the Watcher's Crown, once you've claimed it for yourself, and you will never die.

So, what do you say, Jon? You're strong enough. You're in the right place, at the right time. Are you ready to ascend?"

Martin paused to await his answer.

Jon stared at him, utterly lost for words. 

How could Martin ask this of him with a smile on his face? To never see the human world again, never say goodbye to Georgie and Daisy and the others... He'd said goodbye to everyone who might care to listen to his tape before climbing into the coffin, but things had improved since then, in some ways, even if he was still struggling with most of the same problems. Could he afford to go back to London and take his time with this decision? What would happen to Martin? Didn't he want to spend longer by his side, now that they were finally together again?

If Martin was asking this of him, then what else could he do? Nobody else truly needed to see him again. He'd already decided to die for humanity, if he had the chance. What better opportunity could he hope for? He was a monster. His own fear meant nothing.

"What... what would happen to you?" Jon asked the only question that really mattered. "Would you be able to get out in time? Or would you be stuck here?"

"I've already taken that into account," Martin assured him. "Will you do this? For me? For our god, and for everyone back home?"

"I... ah..." Jon felt his god's hunger as his own. This realm held so much information, so much terror to reclaim... "In theory. If I did. How would I even...?"

"I'll show you." Martin drew him into a hug, and spoke softly in his ear. "This is the only way I can save you, Jon. You'd have been railroaded into the Watcher's Crown one way or another, unless you'd died first, and I couldn't have stopped it. I can only make sure it happens here, so that you don't forsake the world you've always wanted to protect. If I'd done this myself, by displacing you as the pupil of the Eye, then you'd have faded like avatars of failed rituals, because you'd have failed your part in this one, if it had happened without you. You were already in so far over your head... I'm sorry I can't offer you anything better. But I won't let you die."

"I - I'll do this for you, so long as you can move on," Jon promised. "Tell me how the ritual works, and tell me how you're going to make it home. I won't start until you've escaped."

"Ah... Jon... this is why..." Martin drew back and rubbed his eyes, crying and smiling.

"I'm ready when you are." Jon tried to offer him a shaky smile in return.

Martin leaned in and kissed him on the lips, tangling one hand in his hair and the other in his t-shirt. Jon froze up as Martin deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue past his lips. This sort of thing always felt weird, like some kind of party trick on a level with licking someone's eyeball or stuffing an elbow in their mouth. He hadn't really wanted to experiment this way again, but he hadn't told Martin in advance... 

Before Jon could gather his wits enough to pull away, a couple of Martin's spiders crawled into his mouth and slipped down his throat. On reflex, he shuddered, and Martin disengaged. 

Jon whimpered as he tried to avoid coughing, giving the little ones time to settle in. It wasn't their fault.

Jon's eyes closed of their own accord. Martin's lips brushed against his eyelids.

"Do you see?" Martin asked, his tone solemn.

"Yes." Jon spoke without choosing to. His eyes opened by themselves.

Martin kissed the tips of his ears. "Do you hear?"

"Yes." The word escaped him again.

Martin kissed his forehead. "Do you know?"

"Yes." No, Jon didn't know why he couldn't move. Surely this wasn't Martin's work. He couldn't betray the only condition he'd asked of him...

Martin sat back on his heels, and started reciting a speech that he must have memorised earlier.

"Wrest this realm from its rightful inheritors. Behold all that lays before you, and claim it as your own. Anoint yourself with your most loyal acolyte, and honour the rivers of blood spilled to carry you here. Hopeless love has served as your vessel, and terror as your compass. My vigil ends here, so that yours will not cease."

_No._

Martin pulled off his shirt. Jon's hands delved into his chest, pulling out rib after rib. His hands twisted the bones into a circlet. Martin swayed on the spot, still smiling.

Jon's fingers plucked out Martin's heart. He pressed the bleeding mass to his own forehead, lips, and throat, then set it aside. He plucked out Martin's eyes, then embedded one in his own forehead, and the other in his throat, feeling them slide against the eyes that already filled his flesh. 

He placed the Watcher's Crown on his head, adjusting it so that a loop of bone framed the eye that had belonged to his 'most loyal acolyte'.

His webs finally released him, and he slid to the ground. He started screaming as soon as he realised he could. His god's power flowed through him, feasting on his terror and stifling his breath. He cast about for Martin's heart, and found it still spasming on the ground.

Clutching Martin's heart to his chest, he clawed open his own skin. His ribs parted at his touch, clearing a path. As the Eye looked on, he slid Martin's heart into his chest, past his lungs, until it came to rest next to his own heart, pulsing with warm encouragement. 

Shaking with desperate relief, he lay on his back and stared at the sky. The Eye pinned him beneath its gaze. He fell into its pupil, and Martin fell with him.

The Ceaseless Watchers surveyed their new domain. They catalogued the ruined cities, and the lost souls who wandered their ashen streets. They stared down at the glassy deserts, where shockwaves had been immortalised in the barren earth. Their gaze reached the wretches huddled in lightless bunkers, irreversibly cut off from the uninhabitable land above. 

They watched over the observatories where cracked telescopes lay neglected in corroded casings, and the landfills where broken electronics sparked and twitched, fused with the remains of those who'd turned to technology for transcendence. 

They stretched out over the acid oceans, choked with plastic, and observed those cursed to forever drown in their corrosive depths. They studied the mass graves, and the cannibals who dug through them for scraps. They searched out the horrors that had inherited this desolate landscape, and picked apart the violent terrors that drove them, flaying them open one by one.

They filled the sky, watching over the discarded husks of their former shells, and a twin pulse of satisfaction lent a twist to the notes of their endless duet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note added (3/1/20) for an illustration that I commissioned from Marina! Here's a look at a typical night before this story kicked off, as described in Jon's pov this chapter:
> 
> <https://marina-does-things.tumblr.com/>   
>  <https://twitter.com/vermilion_shade/status/1177950952558649345>


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